Back to the Future Part IV
by StrawberryBubble
Summary: When Marty is kidnapped and brought nearly 25 years into the past, it's up to Doc to save him before it's too late! Rated T for action/violence, cursing, and a horrible summary :D NOW COMPLETED! I DON'T own anything in this story except my OC's and plot.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Fog spread out over the town of Hill Valley, accompanied by a chilly breeze. It was only around four in the morning, and there was no light, save the dim street lamps. It was just plain eerie, and there was no one in sight on the sidewalks, nor the roads, and no shops were open.

No one except a teenage boy of around seventeen, riding a skateboard almost casually, as if he'd done it before at the same early hour. He was dressed in simply a blue collared shirt with long sleeves, and jeans. His white Nikes stood out as he glided along, and in his hands he held a shoebox, pressed to his side as if he had a fear of dropping it.

He, within ten minutes, reached his destination—the Twin Pines mall. He rode swiftly to the parking lot, where he stopped in front of a white trailer/truck marked _Brown Industries_.

A sharp hiss of compressed air being released caused Marty McFly to jump and snap his head to the back of it. It opened, and out popped a white haired man, smiling crazily. "Marty! Did you bring the stuff I asked for?"

"Sure did, Doc. Right here." Marty took the lid off the box and reached inside, retrieving a pair of headphones, an electrical adaptors, and several wires Marty didn't know what to call. He reached up and handed them to the man.

Dr. Emmett Brown nodded in thanks and turned to go back into the trailer. Marty hopped up onto the platform and followed him, raising an eyebrow when he looked around. It was like a workshop, with tons of either broken or failed inventions littering the floor, along with a ton of crumpled up paper.

"So…" Marty began, curious. "What're you trying to make?"

After a moments pause, the scientist answered, "You'll see."

Marty sighed and leaned against the table where Doc now had all of the things he'd brought, plus a remote control type machine. He took a pair of pliers and snipped off the end of the headphone's cord. Then, he ran it along the plastic until he could peel off the covering and leave only the wire. Marty watched, thoroughly confused, as he began somehow fitting it into the remote.

"Umm…" Marty shook his head. "Why couldn't you just have done this in your own lab?"

Doc gave Marty a look as if he'd broken his concentration, and then said, "Well…if it doesn't turn out to be exactly what I plan, it could quite possibly cause a small explosion."

Marty unintentionally—or, _very _intentionally—took several steps back. "Wait, whoa, Doc. You're joking, right?"

Either completely ignoring the question or unwilling to answer, Doc said, "Alright, let's see if this works…"

Doc pressed a button, aiming it at a flickering lamp post. Marty flinched as he did so, and then felt quite foolish when nothing happened. "Uh—" he began, but Doc waved his hand as if to stop him and pointed to the street lamp.

"What?" Marty didn't notice the fact that it had stopped flickering, or just didn't exactly care. After all the interesting things the scientist had built, he'd expected something more.

"It's an electrical pulse trigger." Doc said, smiling, obviously waiting for some sort of congratulations.

"Which means?" Marty waited.

"It'll fix, turn on, or turn off anything electrical within forty yards!" Doc finished, still grinning.

Marty slumped his shoulders, disappointed, sitting down on the edge of the truck. "Great. You just put electricians out of a job."

Doc cursed softly and threw the remote onto the table. "Oh, you're right. I just can't make anything…"

"Exciting?" Marty bit his lip. "Sorry."

"No, you're right." he repeated, sighing and kicking a wad of paper. He looked around at the inventions around, shaking his head. He sat down next to Marty and said, "Sorry I called you out here so late."

Marty shrugged. "Not like I had anything better to do." he said, almost truthfully. _Except sleep, _he added silently. _At least it's Sunday. _A sudden, loud crash coming from either in the trailer or behind it caused both to jump, almost simultaneously.

"What was that?" Marty asked, and got merely a head shake in response. Doc stepped into the portable lab and let out a laugh. "It was just the pulse trigger...it fell."

Marty breathed again and nodded. Why was he being so paranoid? There was no one here but them, and if there somehow was, who cared? They really couldn't do anything. And yet, he had a bad feeling he couldn't quite get over. He sighed. Maybe it was the fact that now, the fog had gotten thicker, and he could barely see three feet in front of him because of it. The wind whooshed softly, almost like a whisper, making everything just a bit creepier. Doc came back and took a seat again with a sigh. "I can't believe it. I haven't made a good invention since the steam engine time machine."

"Yeah you did." Marty offered. "You did rebuild the DeLorean. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Doc looked pleased for a moment, but it faded quickly. "I don't know..." he continued. "I just...feel like maybe I've lost my touch."

"No way, Doc." Marty comforted. "That couldn't happen."

But Doc seemed not to here him, and moped on. "And that nothing I build will ever be anything as great as the thing I can't even let the public know about. I guess I've just been so busy with Clara and taking care of the boys..." he stopped. "It almost sounds like I'm _blaming _them." he said, shaking his head.

"Nah." Marty smiled. "You just need the right moment to think of something. Like when you invented the Flux Capacitor!"

Doc shrugged, finally seeming to come out of his depressed mode.

"Just, uh, don't go hitting your head on another sink." Marty said comically.

Doc chuckled. "Good advice."

Suddenly, a voice came from behind Marty, starting both of them. "Want some more good advice? Don't move." Something clicked, and Marty distinctively knew what it was. He'd spent too much time in the old west, and pretty much every where else to not recognize a gun cocking.

Doc stared past Marty, at the dark figure now holding something cylinder in his hand. He was masked, so his face could not be seen; not that he could have anyways through the cloudy mist hovering over the parking lot.

Marty went utterly stiff, panic-stricken, as the figure pushed the gun into his back. "Shit!" he whispered. He knew it'd felt like someone else was around! Maybe it had been one of those sixth sense experiences where you can tell someone is watching you. But who was it? What did they want? _It must be something they knew Doc would have, _Marty realized, _or they wouldn't be in the same place at the same time we are. _Who went on a robbing spree in a closed mall lot at 4:30 in the morning?

"Get up, kid." the gruff voice demanded. Marty swallowed hard and looked at Doc, who returned it with a silent but obvious order—_'do what he says.'_

The teen stood, hesitantly, and began to turn slowly, but before he could, the barrel of the gun was pressed harder into him. "I didn't say turn around."

Marty froze, whipping around so he was facing Doc again. His friend's face was expressionless as he continued to gaze at whoever was behind him.

"Alright, good." the man said (Marty could easily tell it was not a woman.) He heard more footsteps and he groaned inwardly. _How many people are here? _Marty wondered. _This is ridiculous! _Almost as soon as he had finished the thought, he was grabbed by his shoulders and pulled backwards. Another set of hands—no, two—grabbed him as the other let go, and he found himself in front of two burly men. He was forced to turn around, and watched, frightened, as the first man took aim with the gun at the scientist.

"Doc!" Marty cried. He hadn't had the best experiences with his friend and guns being pointed at him. He yanked one of his arms free, but as he struggled to get the other loose, one of the men formed a fist and struck the top of his head with it. "Uh!" His knees buckled almost instantly, and he men grabbed him before he could hit the pavement, holding his barely conscious form between them.

Doc opened his mouth to say something, horrified, but the man tightened his grip on the gun. He held out a hand. "Where is it?" he said, chillingly calm.

Doc only stared. "Where is what?"

"The sleep inducer!" The man said, losing his patience if he had any before.

Surprised, Doc shook his head. "How the hell do you—"

"_Get it! Now!_" the man said, swinging the gun around to aim at Marty. "Or the boy dies."

Doc took a step back, holding his hands up slightly. "No, I'll get it." he said, almost too softly to hear. He disappeared into the trailer, and came back a minute later, holding the dangerously powerful device in his hand.

The man grabbed it and nodded. He might have even been smiling, although Doc couldn't be sure behind the ski mask. "Good," he said, and then turned around. Marty was glaring at him, breathing hard and still dazed. "Just to make sure you didn't do anything to this..." the man took several steps over to Marty, and, before the teen could turn away, activated the device in front of his eyes, which slid shut a moment later. He hit the ground with a _thud_ as the men dropped him.

Without hesitation, he whipped around and did the same to Doc. He didn't even get the curse forming at his lips out before he crumpled, unaware that he even collided with the concrete.

The man left the two figures where they lay, climbing into the black BMW parked several yards away.

"We _will _meet again, Dr. Brown." he murmured. His eyes went to the teen, and he hesitated, wondering if he should take him with them...He shook his head. He'd merely weigh them down. But he'd come back for him possibly, if he needed some...extra options of getting away safely and uncaught. Hill Valley wouldn't suspect them of what they were going to do, which was exactly how he wanted it. The last thing they needed was the newspapers to publish something about a kidnapping in the area.

He smiled wickedly. At least, not _yet. _

He slammed the door, and, in seconds, they were engulfed by the fog, and then gone.

* * *

The first thing Marty was aware of was a horrible headache, pounding everywhere, especially the top. He, for a few moments, had no recollection of any prior events. He thought simply that he was at home in bed. Then, with speed faster than light, the morning came flooding back: the men, the theft...why were things so fuzzy? He blinked open his eyes and sat up with a soft groan. When his vision cleared, he saw that he was no longer in the Twin Pines parking lot, but in Doc's actual lab, on a light brown couch in the corner. How had he gotten here?

"Doc?" he called out. A beat later, he saw the inventor poke his head around the corner and take a few steps towards him. "Yes. How are you feeling?"

Marty looked down at the blanket covering him and realized he must have been asleep for a long while. "I've been better," he said honestly, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through his head. He leaned against the couch, aching. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Doc said, a little worried. Had the teen been hit harder than he'd thought?

"The guys showed up, and then..." he trailed off, blinking hard a few times. "It's really hazy after that."

"They stole the sleep inducer," Doc answered, and then cursed. "And then tested the damn thing on us!"

Marty rubbed his head. His eyes caught side of a window, which he realized was pouring in light. He sat up straight all of a sudden, and stared at Doc, his eyes wide. "Doc! What time is it?"

Doc looked behind him for a second and then turned back to his friend. "Fifteen to eight." he told him.

Marty paled a bit and sank back "Three hours..." he murmured. "I was asleep for _three _hours?"

Doc nodded. "Actually, it's amazing that's all. You've got a nasty bump on the top of your head where they hit you, and combined with the effects of the inducer, it's no wonder.."

Marty's hand instantly went to the spot, and he groaned as he very distantly remembered that. "Damn..." he murmured, taking the cover off of him and standing. A wave of dizziness almost knocked him off his feet, and he stumbled forward, grabbing onto the wall, grateful for the support. Doc began to help him if he needed it, but he recovered quickly, walking over to the table Doc was in front of. He realized Doc had a wire in his hand, and figured he must be working on something again. "What...whaddya doing?" he asked, eyeing the wire.

"Oh." Doc said, as if he'd forgotten it was there. "My lamp." he stated, shrugging.

Marty nodded. He looked dazed, shocked. "Doc...what did those men want? I mean...why us?"

With another shrug, the scientist responded, "I'm not completely sure. Obviously, they wanted the sleep inducer, though I'm not sure how they came to know about it. When the effects of it wore off me, I brought you back here and found this whole place trashed. I have no idea of their motives, however."

Marty ran the back of his hand over his eyes and took a few steps towards the door. "I better go...before my mom starts wondering where I am, if she hasn't already."

"I don't think you're alright to walk..."

"I'm not gonna walk." he said. "I'm gonna..." he trailed off, as if he couldn't quite find the word. He instead asked, "Where's my board?"

"Right there," Doc pointed to beside the door. "But..."

"I'll be fine." he insisted.

"You can call your mom to pick you up, or I can drop you off—"

"I'm fine!" Marty said, louder this time. He hated being fretted over, especially about something that wasn't necessary. He grabbed his skateboard and made a move towards the door. At that very moment, though, dizziness overwhelmed him, and he dropped the board, very nearly fainting on the spot. Trembling and blinking to clear his vision, Marty turned around to see Doc looking at him, and he gave a weak smile. "Okay. Maybe I'm not."

As if satisfied, Doc gave a swift nod and grabbed the keys to his vehicle. In less than five minutes, he was home. Doc called out after him, "Rest, Marty. I'm serious."

Marty waved his hand in acknowledgment and grabbed his skateboard, not even bothering to bring it into the house and instead throwing it into the garage. He was surprised he actually made it to his bed before passing out. He didn't get up until hours later, feeling much better. The morning seemed like a distant memory by now, which may have been because he didn't remember half of it.

He got a glass of water and sat down on the living room couch, clicking on the television to the News. He had just taken a big drink when he heard what the woman was saying: "...Hill Valley bank was robbed at about 10 this morning, before they even opened, by at least eight men. They used some sort of unknown object, the manager says, to knock out all the employers while they robbed the place clean..."

Marty spat out the water, lapsing into a coughing fit until finally he could breathe again and listen.

"Police say over 300,000 dollars were stolen, with no lead on where to begin searching."

"Shit!" Marty shouted, jumping off the couch, all the fogginess in his mind evaporated, and ran out the door, grabbing his skateboard. He was off faster than he thought possibly, needing to tell Doc if he hadn't heard about it already.

This was _definitely _heavy.

* * *

**A/N: So what do you think? This is my second attempt for a story (after deleting the other because of writer's block) and, to prevent that, I took a story I've already written several chapters for, so as to give me more time to think and write without making the readers of this story wait for months at a time. That is, if I continue this... Please please review! It's the one thing that helps me keep wanting to post, and please let me know if I should continue! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Marty burst into his friend's lab, out of breath, searching for him, his eyes wide.

"Doc!" he called again, but there was no answer. _Damn, _he thought, _he must be with Clara… _He concluded that that was the only explanation and set out to Doc's newly rebuilt mansion, praying he was right. He wasn't sure if Doc had been watching the news, but he knew he would be very interested (maybe _distraught _would be a better word) to hear about it. He couldn't believe the men had used Doc's invention for robbing a bank! As fast as his skateboard would take him, he finally reached Doc's home, in around ten minutes time.

He left his skateboard on the grass and ran to the front door. He knocked fairly hard on the blurred glass, shouting out. "Doc! It's Marty!"

A moment later, the inventor opened it and greeted him. By the way he seemed so calm, Marty instantly knew he hadn't heard yet.

"D-Doc…" Marty gasped breathlessly, "You gotta…gotta hear this!"

Doc's expression went from being pleased to see his friend to worry in a mili-second. The teen was very pale and was sputtering something about an invention. "Marty, calm down!" he said, waving him to come inside. Marty did, greeted by a confused and curious Clara.

"Marty…?" she began, but he recovered fast. He explained to Doc what he'd heard on the television, noticing the frown that began developing on his face. He shook his head when Marty finished, and Clara, who had also been listening, asked, "So they don't have a clue as to who might have done it?"

Marty shrugged. "No more than we know who attacked us. There were only a few men this morning, but obviously they were in the same plan as the rest of 'em."

Doc sighed. "I don't even know how _they _knew about the inducer—or that we would be at the mall at the time we were."

"Did they follow us around or something?" Marty wondered aloud, and Doc answered with, "I'm not sure. It's possible, I suppose."

Clara shuddered, placing a hand on Doc's shoulder. "Oh, Emmett…what if they are still after you? Or Marty?"

"I think they already got what they wanted," Marty said. "If they stick around in the same place they committed a serious crime, sooner or later they're gonna get caught."

"Oh I sure hope so," Clara said honestly.

_No kidding, _Marty thought. Then, something occurred to him he'd not had cross his mind till now. "Doc, did you file a report? With the police, I mean?"

The man shook his head. "We really really have no proof—"

"I have proof." Marty muttered under his breath, a hand on his head.

"—and what could we say?" Doc continued with only a slight hesitation. "They stole the sleep inducer? I might get charged just for making it—it didn't exactly prove useless to them."

Marty reluctantly had to agree. Besides, they were probably long gone, the men. No one stuck around after a robbery like it never happened. In movies, they were usually off to Canada, or Mexico. But who could be certain?

"Father!"

Marty turned his head at the voice, as did Doc. Jules Brown appeared at the top of the stairway, looking down at them. Marty still wasn't used to seeing kids in the house, even though it had been around a month.

"Yes?" Doc answered.

"Verne is hogging the computer! And I must do a report!"

Doc ran a hand through his slivery hair and sighed. "I—" he looked at Marty, who held up his hands slightly. "I gotta get back home anyways. I think my mom still thinks I'm sleeping."

"Well, be careful." Doc and Clara said at nearly the same time. Marty nodded. "I will."

He turned, and was through the door a moment later. On his skateboard again, it was almost as if nothing had happened. And that was the way it should be, because it was over.

_But it's not, is it? _

Marty didn't know why that thought had suddenly crossed his mind. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been feeling nervous ever since he'd woken up the second time, and kept wanting to look behind him.

And he had a feeling, similer to the one he'd had that same morning, that the silent question wasn't wrong.

* * *

"Marty, there you are!"

As Marty walked into his home, he watched his mother come towards him and then ruffle his hair. "Uh, hi." he said, confused slightly.

Lorraine McFly sensed what Marty was thinking, and answered the question before he could even begin to ask it. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Why?" Marty cringed at his bad choice of words, and corrected himself. "I mean, why, what happened? Th—that would make you think I'm not okay?"

Lorraine sighed. "There were just a few robberies this morning, and I—"

"Wait," Marty interrupted, "a _few_?"

"Yes…"

"I…I thought just the bank was robbed. What else happened?"

"Well, the corner store was stolen from as well, along with a jewelry store, and a few minor shops." she saw the horrified look on Marty's face, and added, "No one was hurt."

"D—did they say anything, like, how? Was an, 'unknown' weapon used?" Marty asked, emphasizing with air quotes.

"Why, yes, yes they news reported did say that…" she trailed off, suddenly realizing her son had gone pale and looked like he might be sick. She took him by his arm and set him down on the couch. "Are you feeling okay, honey?"

"Fine." Marty lied, his voice cracking.

"Well, alright, if you're sure." Lorraine shook her head and went into the kitchen. Marty leaned back. "Oh man…" he murmured. "This is heavy."

So the thefts weren't over. That couldn't be a good sign. No one robbed that many places in one day without getting caught. They'd all have to be genious! _Or have a sleep inducer…_Marty reflected bitterly. Then, a thought hit him. The more than inducer was used, the less power it had. It would only have an effect on people for a very short amount of time by now. But yet, they must have snuck in and out of the places like they were invisible in the ten minutes or so of no one watching. It couldn't continue. Eventually, Marty realized, the inducer would fail, and they'd be caught. He sighed and relaxed finally. _At least that's good. But how long untill that time? How many more places can they get?_

It didn't seem like any. The rest of the day's news reports were normal, or at least not having to do with the men—gang—whatever they were, which Marty was obviously pleased about. In fact, he was utterly relieved, hoping that maybe they'd left town. Sure, they had the money, but if they were gone, Hill Valley would just have to deal with that and be glad.

Marty, despite himself, flipped on the television once again to be sure, right before he headed off to bed, for the night. Again, nothing, and that was the way he wanted to keep it.

He had just drifted off into sleep when he, distantly, heard the phone ring. For a moment, he did nothing, wondering if he had dreamed it. But the second ring startled him out of slumber, and he grabbed it, holding it to his hear. "Hello?" he mumbled.

"Marty," Doc's voice began on the other side of the phone.

"I'm not going out anywhere tonight." Marty said automatically, and then added, "Sorry," when he realized his tone had been kind of pushy. But he was dead serious. And tired.

"No, no," Doc said quickly, "I wasn't—I just wanted to appologize about earlier."

"No need to. It's 'kay."

"I didn't mean to rush you out." Doc said.

"It's fine." Marty answered. "Anyways, I was sorta checking in on the news every once and a while…no other thefts happened…execpt for a few my mom told me about when I came back. A jewelry store, and a few others small ones. But there wasn't anymore after that."

"Yeah, I figured they'd back off eventually. The inducer must have lost most of his power by now, if not all."

"I was thinking about that earlier." Marty replied. "I don't know how someone didn't just wake up before they got away. You'd think at least one person would've—it's like these guys don't even exist!"

The inventor sighed. "I don't know how they did it, but they did. Hopefully they're halfway to wherever they're going."

"I don't think that's far enough," muttered the teen. His eyes caught the clock, and he mumbled a curse. "Doc, hey, I gotta go. If I'm late to class tomorrow, Strickland will…" he trailed off, and then finished with, "I can't be late."

"Alright, goodbye."

"See ya," Marty set the reciever down, pulled the blankets over him, and fell asleep almost instantly.

When he woke, he quickly pulled on some clothes, grabbed his things, and, amazingly, made it to school on time. Actually, it was four minutes to the bell when he arrived on campus, and he smiled mockingly at Mr. Strickland's surprised expression. "Well, well," he said as Marty approached the front doors. "This isn't something I see everyday." His face turned sour again. "I expect more of this from you, McFly, now that I know you can actually do it."

"Sure," Marty retorted, purposely making it sound like he didn't care. He didn't have to try much.

"Watch it, McFly." Strickland's eyes raised as the bell rang, and students began to crowd into the hallways. "Get to class."

"Yes, sir." Marty smiled in a sickly-sweet way, enjoying the glare he got from the principal. He didn't know why he found joy in pissing the man off. Maybe it was the fact he was a jerk to everyone, especially him? Yeah, that could have been it…calling his father and him a slacker at twice a week or more didn't exactly make him a likable guy.

The man looked about to say something in return, but Marty was off before he could.

His first period teacher, Mr. Johnson, looked at him strangely when he walked into the classroom. Not only was he not late, he was also the first student to get there.

"Well, hello Marty." the teacher said slowly, watching as the teen took a seat near the back.

"Hiya." Marty replied, as if just addressing a friend. He smiled at the man, watching his confused reaction. "What? I can't get here early one day?"

"No. But it's a good surprise." He stood from his desk and walked over to the teen, his hand held out. "I'll be even more surprised if you turn in your homework."

_Damn. _Trying to change the subject, he argued, "Hey! I almost always do my homework!"

"Yes," Mr. Johnson raised an eyebrow. "But you're _almost always _late anymore. At least, certainly not early. I don't think it's possible for you to do both."

_Why do teachers have to do this to me? _Marty groaned softly. "I—I didn't exactly remember—"

Mr. Johnson retracted his hand. "Well, it _would _have been nice." He walked back to the front as more students began coming in. Some had heard his words, and were giving Marty glares.

Slightly unnerved, Marty shrank down in his seat. He realized it was quite a ridiculous reason to get embarrassed, and he swallowed hard, ignoring the looks. He straightened up best he could and watched as Mr. Johnson began speaking. After a few moments, Marty's mind had drifted off, and he was no longer listening. This wasn't a hard thing to do, as he had a terrible time concentrating on math. Everytime he tried, understanding slipped away as if he were trying to grab a wet bar of soap. It was somewhere around…completely impossible. He sighed, wishing school was already over. Weekends passed far too quickly.

_Only 5 days to go till another one, _Marty thought, trying to keep positive. It was not exactly the easiest task, not sitting here, in class, in school. _Hell, _he corrected, _or…maybe a little better than that. _

He blinked when he heard his name called, and realized everyone had their eyes on him.

"The answer, Mr. McFly?" Mr. Johnson waited.

"Uh…" Marty shook his head, drawing giggles from the class.

"No, 'uh' is not the answer. It was 17." Laughter erupted.

Marty fell back, frowning. _Nope. It's Hell. Definitly Hell. _

_

* * *

_Finally, the last bell of the day rang, and relieved, Marty gathered his things and met Jennifer outside where they always did after school. They embraced and kissed, and then Jennifer questioned, "Why do you look upset?"

"I'm not." replied Marty. "Just tired, I guess." He decided not to worry Jen by telling what had happened the day before. There was no reason to.

Jen nodded comfortingly. "You should go home and rest." she suggested with a smile. Marty returned it. "Thank you, Nurse Jennifer."

"No problem…" she kissed him again, interrupted by a car horn. She pulled away and said, "Darn. I have to go." She began towards her dad's car.

"Love you!" Marty called.

"Love you too," she answered. Then, before ducking into the vehicle, she asked, "Do you want me to call you later?"

"I'll call _you. _I'm gonna go see Doc after this."

"Alright, bye!"

Marty watched as they drove away, and when they turned out of sight, he dropped his skateboard. He rode without rush to Doc's lab, weighed down slightly by his backpack. If it was possible to get an illegal amount of homework, he had it.

He placed his bad, once he'd arrived, along with his board outside of the door, but out of the way so he or Doc wouldn't trip and kill themselves if they left.

He heard talking from the inside, but thought nothing of it until he opened the door. "Doc—" he stopped abruptly with a gasp, completely horrified at what he was seeing. Men…he counted eight, some with masks on, some without, all turn to stare at him as he entered. Marty's eyes widened and his mouth hung open in shock.

"You damn fool!" One shouted to another, "I told you to keep the door locked!"

Marty caught sight of Doc, sitting in a chair with two burly guys in front of him. He gaped at Marty, as if he couldn't believe he'd stepped in at this very moment.

Startled, Marty locked eyes with an unmasked man with very dark brown hair that turned to him, smiling wickedly.

"Well, look who decided to join us."

* * *

Yay! My first cliff hanger (: I've realized writing them is very fun, so expect more in the future! *ahem* :D

Please review and tell me if you liked it! Or…if you didn't, please don't tell me. I respect your opinion, but I really don't want to hear it (:

Thank you for reviewing! And I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving / Thanksgiving break!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

"Run!" Doc Brown shouted at the teen, who was frozen in fear, staring at all of the burglars now in his lab.

Marty whipped around, but the door slammed shut, and all of a sudden, he was face to face with a very muscular masked man, who made a move as if to hit him. He staggered back—straight into the strong grip of someone else. He struggled desperately, shouting, "Lemme' go!"

Doc stood, taking a step forward to help his friend, but the two men shoved him back into the chair. "Stop! Don't bring him into this!"

The man holding Marty was clearly the one Doc had been talking to, because he chuckled. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" he asked, his voice chillingly calm.

Frightened, Marty tried to escape from his arms, but he was shoved forward into the other man, who forced him to turn around. The first burglar Marty had seen with brown hair looked at the person now holding Marty. Then, he said, "Why don't you make sure he doesn't escape?"

Marty glared hard at him, but not for long. Doc shouted something that might have been a warning about what happened next, but before he could even comprehend what he'd said, something whacked the back of his skull. He hardly had time to cry out before he crumpled, holding his aching head.

The blow didn't knock him out, at least, not completely. He was still vaguely aware of his surroundings, but he could do nothing as someone dragged him to his feet, shoved him into chair, and began tying his wrists behind his back. His vision went in and out of focus until he had to close his eyes to stop the waves of dizziness that were washing over him.

A hand cupped his chin and forced him to look up, and saw that it was the brown haired man when he blinked. His mouth moved, but Marty heard nothing but a distant mumble that seemed to come from across an ocean. His eyes shut again as the man released him, and he lowered his head onto his chest.

The only thing he was aware of for a while was his heartbeat pounding in his ears, until finally, he could make out what was being said, raising his head and blinking until his sight cleared.

"…would it be risky?" someone was asking the brown haired man, who replied, "No. I'm not going to have our escape being anything but safe, and if we…" he trailed off, looking at Marty, who was staring at him with intense hatred.

The brown haired man only smiled, amused. "Well. You seem alright." he said, his tone saying he was anything but caring. He gestured at the man next to him, and said smoothly, as if it was no big deal, "I was beginning to wonder how hard my accomplice here actually hit you."

The muscular man chuckled menacingly.

Marty said nothing; did nothing. As if this irked him, the same man took a threatening step forward, but Marty didn't so much as flinch.

The brown-haired man spoke again, with a question that Marty almost laughed at. "What should we call you?" He spoke every word as if he were talking to a child in pre-school.

Marty didn't answer, his eyes flickering to Doc. The scientist looked at him, helpless, and Marty realized that the men had left him, but now his hands were tied behind his back. Perhaps a result of him trying to get up before?

The burglar clicked his tongue. "Ah. How rude of me. You may address me as John." he said, giving only the merest of hesitations before he said the name, but that was enough for Marty to know it wasn't real. _Duh, _he told himself, _why the hell would he give his real name? _

"Your name?" John waited, and when the teen still said nothing, he impatiently slammed a fist down on the metal desk, causing Marty to jerk back in surprise. "Tell me now, or the next thing I hit will be _you_.

"…Marty." the seventeen and a half year old murmured, and when he was given another hard glare, he added, "McFly."

"Thank you. Now, was that so hard?"

Silence.

John raised his hand, and Doc clearly flinched as he brought it down in an open handed slap to Marty's cheek. He heard Marty cry out softly, and then saw him blink at John, dazed. "_Was. That. So. Hard?_" John repeated, louder and more forced.

"No." Marty managed in a shaking voice, trying his best to hold back a groan of pain.

John smiled and nodded. "Good, _Marty_." he emphasized Marty's name as if he'd just taught a dog a new trick. He turned to the other man, and then to Doc. "We're going to need a different vehicle." he said, and Doc's eyes flashed with fear for a split second. Surely they didn't know about—or worse, _want_—the DeLorean…did they?

John murmured something into his accomplice's ear, and Marty only caught one word: "Garage." It took a moment for him to realize what they were going to do, and he almost cursed aloud; they knew about the DeLorean. Somehow, they knew, and they were going to take it. He wished Doc had never rebuilt it.

The man went outside, leaving John withhis two captives. He looked at Doc and said, "Damn, Dr. Brown. You should have built a sleep inducer with more power. That way we could've taken out a lot more places." He reached into his pocket, took something out, and threw it at Doc. The inventor ducked his head just as it whizzed past it, crashing into the other side of the room. Marty realized he'd thrown the sleep inducer at him, and he took a breath through clenched teeth. "You asshole!" he growled at John, who, almost instantly, whipped around and hit him again, harder. This time lights flashed in front of his eyes, and it took longer for him to recover from it.

"You're a defiant little one, aren't you?" he grinned evilly at Marty. "I'm starting to like the idea of taking you with us. Maybe I can teach you some manners."

Marty flinched and stiffened, horrified. "Wha—?"

"Oh yes," John chuckled. "We want a clean, safe getaway. That way, we know Dr. Brown here won't call the police. Not with your _life _on the line."

_Oh, God, no…_ Marty silently begged, looking at Doc. The scientist had his eyes closed, his expression blank, and Marty realized that he'd already known about this somehow. _That's probably what they were talking about earlier..._ He concluded. Doc blinked, saw Marty's pleading expression, and cleared his throat. "You're not taking him."

John turned around, and when he did so, Marty began trying to free himself. "Yeah? And who's going to stop us?" John remonstrated, his tone threatening, and Doc looked away. What could he do? If he said the wrong thing, the man might hurt Marty, and he'd be powerless to stop him. "Not you!" the burglar continued.

_No, me. _Marty wanted to say, and then punch him. But that seemed like something from movies, not real life. And in this real life moment, he couldn't break the bonds, nor could he slip out of the chair.

"Ey, Boss!" a loud voice shouted behind Marty, and he jumped. John whipped around and saw two of his men behind the boy. "Yes?" he said.

"We got the car ready…" the same voice said, and then added with a touch of amusement, "And we seem to have a struggler."

Marty exclaimed as an unseen force pushed hard on his chair, sending him flying five feet into the wall. "Shit!" he muttered, his ears ringing. He shook his head and looked at the three men, whom all he could see now. "You sure it's a good idea bringing him?" one asked. "He could help us get away, but he could just as easily do the opposite."

John nodded, not taking his eyes off the teenager. "Well, let him learn now." He took a step towards Marty. "Actions have consequences." he clenched his fist as he spoke. "Understand?"

"Yes." Marty muttered reluctantly. He blinked hard and, out of the very corners of his eyes, looked at Doc for the briefest of moments before turning his gaze back to the man. John said, "Get him," and walked out the door.

Marty protested with a soft grunt as the two men lifted him from the chair, his hands remaining tied. Then, they pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards the door.

"Doc!" Marty called, turning his head, but was unable to see his friend before he was forced into the daylight.

Instantly, he thought about running. Who wouldn't? If he could break away from the men, he could run to a house and phone the police. But what about Doc? What would happen to him? Would they kill him?

He scowled at the sight of John standing in front of the DeLorean, grinning. He, once Marty was within his reach, he gripped the teen's wrist in one hand and his collar in the other, pulling him towards him. "Let's go over this again, in case you didn't hear it in that little stupor you were in earlier: You will stay _silent, _and when we are a safe distance away, we will release you."

"And how exactly am I supposed to get home?" Marty asked.

John shrugged carelessly. "I don't give a damn. Catch a bus, hitchhike—the point is, _we _get away."

"Nice." Marty muttered under his breath, and John leaned over Marty, his eyes and expression obviously threatening him. "And if you speak a word to anyone about any of this…" he dug his nails into Marty's wrist, who opened his mouth in a silent cry of pain. John smiled. "You—_and _Dr. Brown will pay the consequences. I'll be sure of it."

"To Hell you will," Marty said. "You'll all be arrested. You won't be able to do anything but plead guilty."

The grin was immediately wiped off his face. "Listen. I have my ways. Who says these are the only men I have?" he looked around in a subtle gesture. "I might not even be the mastermind behind this."

Before he could even think of the results, Marty blurted out, "No kidding. I thought people who ran things like this had to be _smart._"

John scowled and raised a hand to hit him. Marty cringed, awaiting the blow, but it never came. John's attention was on something else now, his head turned towards the street. Marty heard it now—a car. _Oh please be the police! _He prayed, then frowned. That would be great, but he highly doubted it would be that easy. The noise grew louder, and then stopped, the unseen vehicle having either turned or pulled into park. _Damn. So much for escaping. _Marty sighed, feeling ridiculous that he'd gotten his hopes up so quickly.

John focused back on Marty, grabbed the back of his shirt, and then literally threw him into the car. With effort, Marty sat up and listened to what John was saying.

"Right," He heard John continuing a conversation Marty hadn't heard. "So just follow behind us in the van and make sure no one is following."

He threw the man something, and Marty recognized it to be a walkie-talkie. Then, John ducked back into the vehicle, shoved the key in the ignition, and started the car. He glared at Marty, who was staring back, and, with lightening fast movements, grabbed his chin and forced him to look at the floor. "You'd be smart to keep your eyes to yourself, _Marty._" He said, and then let go. Marty clenched his teeth, wincing and then grunting softly as the muscular man he'd seen from when he'd first walked into this whole situation squeezed into the passenger seat beside behind.

Surprisingly, despite the man's burly figure, they both fit—but barely. It was kind of like when Jennifer had accompanied him and Doc to the future. Although, Jennifer had partially been sitting on Marty's lap…and in this case, Marty pressed himself as far as he could towards the center console to avoid that at all cost.

He winced as his shoulder pulled too far as he tried to move his bound arms into a more comfortable, less painful position. Finally, after a few moments, he realized it was not going to happen, and slumped back against the leather seat.

Suddenly, a surprising thought occurred to Marty as John drove the DeLorean down the drive way and into the street: They were stealing the time machine…but by the way John—and everyone else—was acting, they didn't seem to be planning any trips to a different time. In fact, they seemed completely oblivious to it's power.

Then, the relief was replaced by panic. Now that the DeLorean ran on just about anything (courtesy of the future, where Doc had picked up another one of those garbage-powered fuel generators), it was probably still ready. They hadn't had anymore trips since he had rebuilt it, and since he'd put some fuel in just in case, it was most certainly filled.

Again, Marty cursed Doc for rebuilding it. He knew the inventor had only done it to humor the past (and future?), but it was sure back-firing now.

_It's okay. I'm good as long as they don't go 88. At least, not with me. _Marty couldn't give a care if they got lost in time without him, as he and Doc could always go back in the steam engine and fix whatever they might have screwed up.

For a good hour, Marty stared only at the floor, deep in thought. He made no sound, and, for the most part, managed to be still, aside from the occasional cramps he'd get in either of his arms, which he'd have to move around slightly to get rid of.

John had actually turned the radio on, very low, but with audible tunes and words. Marty, honest to God, believe that the burglar— and now _kidnapper_—thought this was all a vacation. He acted like it, casually humming along to a song every once in a while.

The man beside Marty said absolutely nothing. He frightened Marty with a glare if he dared look over at him. No doubt he was the one who had caused the bump on his head, and had probably also been the one to hit him not too long ago. He was definitely violent looking, and Marty had not a fiber in his body that didn't believe that, if provoked enough or given the order, he'd gladly do it again. He had serious, almost black eyes, and, when he removed his mask, Marty realized he had no hair. Not only that, but the skin on the top of his head had an almost shine to it, as if someone had polished it. Under regular circumstances, Marty might have laughed, but now, he didn't have the nerve.

His eyes finally raised as loud static emitted from the walkie talkie sitting on the dashboard. As John picked it up, it seemed only then did he see the time circuits, which dates were glowing brightly. Marty saw that the first one read, _April 9th, 1961, _and did not recall why this date was there. Had Doc been planning something he had not been informed about?

"What's this?" John demanded, glaring at Marty.

"A calendar." Marty blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "It's not correct, though..." He hoped John didn't look too closely, as it would be quite hard to explain the labels of 'destination' and so on to him. He quietly breathed a sigh of relief as he didn't, and instead spoke into the radio. "What is it?"

There was more static, then: "We've got someone behind us."

John cursed. "Who?"

"I don't—" the voice cut off suddenly, and then all three heard a loud shout. "Shit! It's the cops!"

Marty grinned. Could it be possible he'd be rescued? He tensed, wanting to take some sort of action, but the man beside him saw this. "Don't even think about it, kid." Baldy said.

Marty could now distinctively hear sirens, and John swore viciously. Marty, his heart pounding, knew he had to do something, send some sort of signal to the police that he was being held in this car. John began to drive faster, until it was apparent that he was going to let nothing get in his way. Marty almost flinched when he saw the speedometer—63 mph.

_Come on, McFly, think! Do something—anything! _If he could just get their attention…

Then, an idea struck him as fast as lightening. In one swift movement, he kicked his right foot out towards the door, and before Baldy could stop him, his shoe caught the handle, and he yanked on it. The door flung open. Ecstatic, believing his plan would actually work, he opened his mouth to yell out, and instead found a cloth covering it before he could. "Get the damn door closed!" John shouted, going faster still.

Still holding the rag against Marty's face, Baldy reached out and grabbed the handle, slamming it shut.

Marty, suddenly exhausted and very dizzy, sagged back. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, and he realized the cloth had something he didn't recognize on it, something that smelt almost sweet. He turned his head, struggling to get away from it, but Baldy kept his grip. He vaguely heard John's angry voice growl, "We'll lose 'em at a hundred."

_You sure as Hell will! _Marty thought hazily, and suddenly could think no more. As his eyes flickered closed, he saw the speedometer a last time. 74 mph.

The last thing he heard was a burst of static from the walkie, and then his consciousness fled.

* * *

John slammed on the gas pedal, looking over just as the kidnapper Marty referred to as Baldy removed a light blue wash cloth from the teen's now limp form. "Damn!" John grumbled, placing his gaze back on the road. "Bad idea bringing him! He's gonna screw our plans!"

_80 mph. _

"Not right now he won't." Baldy shrugged, shoving the rag back into his pocket. "That chloroform should keep him out of our hair for a while."

John looked over at him strangely at his use of words with something that might have resembled a small smile, and Baldy swore. "Just drive!"

_83 mph._

John grabbed the walkie. "They still behind you?"

"Yeah!" came the reply, "And they're gaining! Drive faster!"

John did so, and as the DeLorean reached 87 mph, several sonic booms were heard, shaking the whole vehicle. "What the—" John began, but the sky lit up suddenly, stopping him dead. Then, it went back to a dull, fading, pink hue.

John lowered his eyes to the road—and then realized there…_wasn't _one. He slammed on the brakes, throwing everything and everyone in the car forward. The DeLorean came to a stop, at which point John got out, looking behind them.

The police, the van, and anything that'd been there moments ago was no where to be seen.

"What the hell just happened?" Baldy stepped out of the car and shook his head.

John didn't respond. Instead, he gazed around in shock. No longer was there a road or any houses. Everything had been replaced with what looked to be a wide, open prairie; not trees, lights, or anything hinting civilization was anywhere in sight, and a low, howling wind swept across the land.

Finally closing his mouth and coming out of his state of astonishment, John bent back inside the car. Marty had fallen sideways and was now laying across the seat, clearly still out cold.

Baldy muttered, "Where are we?" and leaned heavily against the vehicle, as If waiting for an answer from someone who knew.

"I don't know," John began, his voice edged with uncertainty and anger. He did not take his eyes off of Marty. "But when the kid wakes up, I'm sure as _hell _going to find out."

* * *

Aren't cliff hangers fun? …Well, they are for me ;D Yeah...don't know why I decided to call the guy Baldy, I just kind of thought it worked (: I hope this chapter wasn't too bad, and I hope you liked it! Don't forget to review! See ya next weekend!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Doc Brown did not give up easily.

He'd come close many times before, but had always pursued whatever it was as much as he could. He'd stuck to the idea of time travel and the Flux Capacitor for 30 _years_, and that was more proof than he needed.

But now, tied to a chair in his now silent lab, he was close to surrender. He'd been struggling for over two hours to rid himself of the ropes, but couldn't quite manage to. He was utterly drained by now and still in a slight daze after the previous events. They had taken Marty—_kidnapped_ him—and he had been powerless to stop them.

_Stupid! Too stupid! _Doc berated himself. _Too stupid and dimwitted to do anything. _

He knew criticizing himself wasn't going to help him get free, and it definitely didn't help Marty. He had to think!

_Which is the one thing I couldn't do when—stop it!_

Suddenly, there was a creak of the door opening, and Doc froze, hardly daring to breathe, then—

"Marty? Doc? Anyone here?"

_Jennifer? _"Jennifer!" Doc shouted.

Jennifer came into view, and gasped when she saw Doc. "Oh my gosh! What happened?" she exclaimed, only hesitating for a half second before rushing over to untie him. "Where's Marty?" she asked, and Doc shook his head, unwilling to tell her the news that would obviously hurt her. "He…" he began, his voice cracking.

"What? What about Marty? Where is he?"

Doc stood as the bonds came loose, rubbing his wrists. He swallowed and started again. "He's…been kidnapped."

Jen paled. "What?" she said, her voice not more than a whisper. She took a step back, looked away, and then turned back to Doc with tears in her eyes. "By who? Why?"

"I don't know. They took the DeLorean…and were the same men who attacked us in the parking lot of Twin Pines—"

"What!" Jen gasped, and Doc cringed. "Marty never mentioned anything about that to me!" She blinked and then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why did they attack you at the mall?"

"They wanted the sleep inducer." Doc took a shaky breath, remembering the night, and then continued. "Marty came here right after school, I suppose."

"Yes, that's what he said he was going to do. That's how I came to begin looking here." Jen said, biting her lip.

Doc nodded. "The men were already here when he arrived, and they captured him, too. They said they needed…a safe escape, which is why they took him, so I wouldn't call the police. But that doesn't explain why they took the DeLorean. They said they planned to release him safely, but if they're in a different time…" he trailed off, not wanting to upset Jen, or himself, any more.

"Maybe…" Jen suggested. "Maybe they didn't know! Maybe they _are _still in our time." she exhaled sharply. "We have to find him."

"I know." Doc agreed. "And fast, before they figure out it's a time machine, if they haven't already."

"Wait!" Jen called. "Should we call the police anyways?"

Doc flinched, remembering John's words to Marty. _Not with your _life_ on the line. _"No." he said simply. "If they're still in 1985..." he trailed off. "We can't risk them hurting Marty."

Jen shut her eyes, horrified. _This isn't real…it's a dream, _she told herself. But when she blinked, everything was still the same. She took a deep breath.

"Alright, Doc. Let's find him."

* * *

The worst headache he'd ever had greeted Marty as he slowly came back to awareness. He groaned softly and tried to bring his hand up to his head, but remembered why he couldn't with a painful jolt. He blinked open his eyes, and when his vision came into focus, he sat up. There was no one in the DeLorean except him, and both doors were open. He looked at the time circuits, which showed that they were now in 1961. _Damn. _He shivered as a breeze caught him, and, as quietly as he could, he maneuvered himself so his feet could swing out of the vehicle. He bent out and looked around, frightened.

Suddenly, he heard, "Hey! He's awake!"

As if he'd been electrocuted, Marty shot to his feet and bolted in the opposite direction of the voice. Yells and curses filled the cold air, but he didn't stop. As he ran, he struggled to get out of the ropes that tied his wrists with no avail. If he could just loosen them a bit—a loud shout startled him, as it sounded like it was right behind him, and he forced himself to focus only on running. He could untie himself later. But…where exactly was he going? He didn't know where they were, and how far civilization was from here. And he couldn't go anywhere without the DeLorean! He risked a look back—and almost instantly tripped over an unseen object. He fell to the ground, crying out as the left side of his face broke his fall instead of his hands. He felt warm blood trickle down his cheek as he was yanked up, and he blinked into the seething mad face of Baldy, who looked about to punch him.

Dazed and spent, Marty could do nothing but groan as he was dragged however far he'd run back to the car, and finally thrown roughly, were he lay, gasping, facedown in the dirt.

"Alright, you little shit." John hissed. "I know you know where we are, so start talking!"

Marty tried to turn over, unable to breathe properly in the position he was in. He mumbled incoherently, and the kidnapper, with his foot, gave Marty a rough shove, flipping him onto his back. Marty spat out the dirt he'd gotten in his mouth from the falls, looked up, and managed to gasp out, "Nineteen…sixty-one…"

"What the hell are you talking about!" John demanded. "Stop fooling around!" He drove his foot into the teen's side, his patience having run out long ago. "The truth! Now!"

"We're in…1961…the DeLorean's a time 'achine." Marty murmured, his words slurring as he fought off waves of agony. He figured he had no choice but to tell them what was really going on; they would have found out eventually, anyway.

John snickered, tapping the vehicle with his hand. "That ol' crackpot finally invented something useful." he muttered. He looked around; it was completely dark now, and they needed somewhere to lay low until they figured things out. "Get 'em in the car," John said, gesturing at Marty, and Baldy hauled the teen into the DeLorean, once again getting in beside him. John got in and both shut the doors. "We're gonna find somewhere to stay." he said. "A hotel or something. A town can't be too far away, I can see a few lights up there." He noticed them only now as it grew to full night, and he started the engine.

Marty's head drooped onto his chest with a soft moan, but John saw this and growled, "You pass out, and you'll _never _wake up."

Marty flinched, snapped his eyes open, and straightened up best he could, trying to ignore the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Less than ten minutes of driving later, they did, in fact, reach a town. By this time, the pain racking Marty had lessened, and his vision was clear enough that he could see a large sign with neon letters reading _Breakfast and Inn_.

John pulled into the parking lot and looked around. He laid eyes on Marty with a scowl. "Damn. Clean the kid up while I check us in. I don't want anyone suspecting anything."

The next few minutes were very unpleasant as Baldy wiped the dirt and blood from Marty's face with a cloth not soaked in whatever had been used on him earlier. Then, _finally, _he untied his hands and let him get out of the car. _That _wasn't unpleasant at all. Marty inhaled the cool air and rubbed his wrists, desperately trying to get circulation back into them.

Baldy grabbed his arm, just above his elbow, and lead him towards the building. Out of the very corners of his eyes, Marty saw a police car pull into the lot, lights off. He was most likely off duty, as it didn't look like the man inside had a uniform on, but he was still a police officer. _Can I make it? _

Then, he lowered his head towards the ground. He needed the DeLorean, and he certainly wouldn't have it if the two men were arrested and he was taken to the police quarters. Then came the part of him being asked where he lived, and where his parents were…

_No, _he decided, _I need a better plan than that. _

Baldy had noticed the cop, too, but said nothing and acted normal, clutching Marty's arm tighter to make sure he didn't get any ideas. As far as the officer knew,—and anyone else, for that matter— they were some people with their son or nephew on a vacation. They'd never suspect anything different. It was perfect; of course, except for their clothes. How different a wardrobe did this time have from theirs? And more importantly, would it be too obvious?

As they arrived, John was talking with the desk clerk, a woman who was…_laughing? _

Marty was disgusted. _He must be a damn good actor. _Baldy stopped just as they entered the hotel, and both sets of eyes went to them.

The clerk looked Marty over, but not half as long as she did to Baldy. Marty guessed his purple t-shirt and jeans weren't nearly as interesting as the stuff the two kidnappers were wearing. What made you look ominous and scary in 1985 just got you strange glances in 1961. They looked completely stupid compared to everyone else walking around in the hotel, including the employees.

"Ah, yes." John said. "This is my son and my brother."

Marty blanched and stiffened. _Oh _hell _no…_

John smiled at the reaction.

"How sweet." The desk clerk said, smiling. "Just on vacation?"

"Yes." John nodded. "From Illinois. We've been traveling all day and we'd like to rest." Other than being from Illinois, it wasn't a complete lie.

"Ah—of course. Forgive me." the woman said, grabbing a key from behind the desk. "Just pay when you leave. Oh, and there's free breakfast in the morning, if you want it!"

"Thank you," John said with a smile that he lost as soon as the three reached the room.

Baldy, who hadn't released Marty the whole time, threw him onto one of the two beds, stepping back as John began speaking. "Alright, kid, cooperate with us and we'll get along just fine. Don't, and…well, I think you know."

Marty stared unflinchingly at the kidnapper. "You might have mentioned it a few times."

"Good." John said, flashing him a wicked grin. "I wonder how many stores we can get here…"

Marty opened his mouth to respond, but jerked back as John feigned a blow to him. "Another thing; you keep your damn mouth shut. Understand?"

Marty slowly nodded, watching as John tossed the card to the room onto the coffee table next to the window, and sat down in the chair, crossing his arms. "Now go to sleep."

Marty said nothing and didn't move.

John cleared his throat, briefly looking at Baldy. "Go to sleep, or we'll put you out forcefully."

Marty's eyes widened slightly as he saw Baldy reach into his pocket and hold out the blue rag. He took a step towards him, and Marty, unnerved, lay down, covering himself with the blankets. His head still hurt, and he didn't want it to get any worse. He saw both men staring at him, frowned, and rolled onto his stomach, an arm under the pillow. He could still feel their glares boring into his head, and he closed his eyes, wishing this was all a dream. And, though he tried to stay awake in case of a chance for escape, the shock of the day wore away into utter exhaustion, and he had fallen into a fitful sleep before he knew it.

* * *

Well, hope you liked it! First of all, sorry about it being a little shorter than the others, and about it being uploaded a little late. Second, that is basically how chapters are going to be going from now on, because, I found out, Doc is REALLY hard to write about for me. So each chapter will have a little about what Doc is doing (unless I can figure out a way to make the parts about him longer) and then the rest will be about Marty.

Please review if you can, it really makes me smile and feel like I should keep writing, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! See you next week!


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I'm really sorry if Clara is OOC, the first part was really hard to write for some reason, and isn't too good. Anyways, enjoy!**_

Chapter Five

Clara Brown paced the floor of her living room, worried about why her husband was not back yet. He'd left early that morning saying he had to do some testing on the new DeLorean, and that he'd be back later.

And yet now, seven _hours_ later, he still was not home. _How much later did he mean? _

Almost as if on cue, Doc burst into the house, with Jennifer right behind him. Both of them were very pale, as if they'd just seen something extremely frightening. "Emmett! What's wrong?"

"Marty's been kidnapped." he said, and Jen noticeably winced.

Clara gasped. "Oh dear!" she started to go for the phone. "I'll call the police."

"No!" Jen said, louder than she meant to. "We can't. They'll hurt him. And they might…" she trailed off, unable to continue.

"They might have traveled to a different time." Doc finished, although it clearly wasn't easy for him either.

Clara shivered. "How on earth do you plan to get him back?"

Doc gave a small smile that seemed not to fit his otherwise disheartened figure. "The steam engine of course. But I don't know how we'll ever find out when—" Suddenly, he stopped, stiffening as if someone had just shocked him. "Damn! Why didn't I think of this before?"

Both Jen and Clara shared a look and then asked simultaneously, "What?" like they had been reading each other's mind in that split second.

"Nineteen sixty-one!" Doc sputtered, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. "Gotta write it down in case I forget again…" he muttered to no one in particular.

"Doc, what are you talking about?" Jen asked, hope edging into her voice. Could the scientist have found something that could help her boyfriend?

"I completely let it slip my mind! I set the time circuits to 1961! I don't remember my motive, as I vowed never to go back in time again…but that doesn't matter!" He slapped a hand to his forehead and murmured to himself for a moment before brightening up again. "April 9th, 1961." he wrote that down on the paper, too. "If they've gone to a different time, that's where it would be. I don't think Marty would tell them how to change it."

"At least, not willingly…" Jen shuddered. Doc looked at her like she'd just ruined his moment of genius, and then lowered his gaze to the floor, those few words bringing thousands of worse-case scenarios into his head.

"Stop!" Clara exclaimed, seeing both of them. "Don't you dare think like that! I'm sure Marty is just fine, but you'd better not waste anymore time worrying about if he is or not! That's not going to help him at all."

Doc nodded. "You're right." He pushed the paper into his pocket and waved at Jennifer. "Come on, we'd better go."

"Wait! How do we know for sure he's not in this time anymore?"

Doc stopped.

"Damn damn!"

* * *

Daylight was barely streaming through the window when Marty awoke, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Blinking, he saw both of his kidnappers sleeping, one on the second bed and the other in a chair. He sighed. This was the only moment of peace he'd gotten since two nights before at his house, and he wished it was this way all the time. He wouldn't have the constant dull throbbing at the base of his skull if it was.

He caught sight of the hotel key on the table next to John, and thoughts instantly flooded his groggy mind of how he could escape. He'd need the keys to the DeLorean! But they were still in John's pocket. He wasn't stupid enough to leave them out. He could literally hand over the room key to Marty, because he could do nothing without the keys to the car. What was he going to do, _run _back to 1985?

_Of course not,_ Marty thought. He needed a perfectly thought out plan to even have a chance of escaping. He swung his legs as silently as he could to the floor—and yelped as Baldy shot up, as if he'd never been asleep. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded after a moment of reorienting himself.

Marty's cheeks turned red as he stammered out, "Uh—the bathroom."

Baldy seemed unconvinced for a few moments, but he finally looked at the door—Marty guessed to make sure it was locked—and then waved his hand in an angry gesture. "Go."

Without hesitation, Marty jumped off the bed and rushed into the restroom, slamming the door in the same instant.

John stirred at the noise, standing up and, failing to see their captive, hissed, "Where is he?"

Baldy pointed to the small room, and John rolled his eyes. He walked over to the door, and banged twice on it with his fist. "Hurry it up." he said.

A moment later, there was the sound of a flush and the sink running, and then Marty opened the door, tinged red in discomfort. He looked to the ground, and John grabbed his arm, shoving him back on the bed, where he sat staring at the two men, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Alright." John said. "We need to figure out exactly what we're gonna be doing."

"Yeah." Baldy agreed, and then glared at Marty. "How the hell do you work the car?" he demanded in such a loud voice that Marty flinched.

"No." John stopped the man. "We have the chance to make some money here." he paused. "We could always—"

Suddenly, he went silent as a knock on the door was heard, and both heads turned to Marty, who merely gave a grin in warning of what he was about to do. "H—" he began to shout, but, in one quick stride, Baldy grabbed him and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish.

John scowled, walked over to the door, opened it, and saw a man in a collared shirt and shorts looking at him, concerned. "I just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong; I heard yelling."

"Yeah, everything's fine. My son was just…misbehaving." John gritted his teeth as he heard Marty make a small squeak from behind him, hoping the man didn't hear.

He obviously didn't. "Okay, sorry, have a good day."

"Sure. You too." John muttered, and the man walked off down the hallway. He shut the door and walked to where Baldy still held Marty silent. "Let him go." he growled, irate.

Baldy did so and, as Marty scrambled off the bed, John formed a fist and drove it into the teen's stomach, causing him to crumple to the ground, gasping for breath. "What did I _just say_ about keeping your mouth shut?" he demanded, not expecting an answer.

He backed up and shook his head. "Get up." he ordered, but Marty only curled into a tighter ball. Irritated, John grabbed Marty by the back of his shirt and yanked him up. With a moan of pain, Marty managed to stay on his feet, half doubled over and clutching his stomach. "You _will _do what I say, or again, there will be consequences. Got it?"

Marty, sucking air through clenched teeth, nodded. John opened the door, came back, gripped Marty by his shirt again, and shoved him out the door. Instantly, the smell of food wafted through the air, and as Marty's aching stomach growled quite loudly, he realized he hadn't eaten since the morning before. He wished he'd chosen to deal with the more or less disgusting school food for once. At least maybe he'd have been a little less hungry.

But it was hard to scold himself when all that was going through his mind was that the food in the lobby didn't smell bad; it smelt great! Like coffee and waffles and—_home. _Marty felt a lump form in his throat, and he swallowed hard, holding back tears. That was exactly where he wanted to go, and yet he was being denied that one thing he'd always been able to do.

He looked longingly at the tables of food as they arrived in the lobby, and John saw this. He wanted to ignore it, but to be honest, he was a bit hungry as well, and the last thing they needed was the teen to get sick, or to have something to complain about.

As his stomach growled a second time, Marty heard John whisper into his ear, "Don't speak to anyone, don't even _look _at anyone. Understand?"

Marty nodded and felt himself released. He walked over to the buffet and grabbed a plate, sitting down and then devouring everything he'd put on it in record time. Finally, as he finished, he cast a glance around. His two captors were sitting on opposite sides of an empty table, not far away from him. They were talking, and then John, who was facing his direction, looked up in his direction. Marty averted his gaze almost immediately and turned back around, cringing. He leaned over the table, moving his empty plate forward so that he could rest elbows on the smooth wood and lower his head onto his arms.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that position, thinking of anything that could guarantee him escaping _and _returning to his own time. He missed his mom, and Jennifer—everyone—1985! And Doc…could he possibly be searching for him? And even if he was, how on earth would he find him, or even have a chance? _I'm on my own, aren't I? _Marty asked himself, although he certainly didn't have an answer to any of the questions.

"Time to go, kid." Baldy's rough voice from behind stirred him. He stood, and felt something cool run down his cheek. Realizing it was a tear, he quickly wiped it away before it could be seen and gave a small sniff. Throwing away his plate, he followed the two men out.

When they got to the DeLorean, Marty expected his hands to be tied again, but no one took any rope out. John looked him over and then said, "Can you be a good boy so we don't have to restrain you?" He spoke as if talking to a child in pre-school, which absolutely irked Marty. But he nodded and, through gritted teeth, muttered, "Yes."

Seemingly satisfied, John also nodded and then pushed him into the car. Baldy got in beside him a moment later, and once John started the car, Marty could instantly tell something was going on. He didn't have the nerve to ask, but John's driving seemed to have more of a purpose than before, like he suddenly knew where to go. He caught Marty's confused and curious expression and said, "You make one sound and you'll regret it."

With a subtle flinch, Marty sank back. There was something about the tone of the man's voice that told Marty he wasn't in the mood for him; more than usual, at least.

Finally, they came to a drugstore on the corner of a street, which he parked in front of. He grabbed something from under the seat and shoved it into his jacket before Marty could see it. He got out of the vehicle, nodded to Baldy, and then walked into the store.

For at least ten minutes there was merely silence, which Marty enjoyed. Then—it was so unexpected that Marty yelped—a single gunshot was heard, followed by screams from inside the drugstore. _Holy shit! _Marty's mouth opened in a silent gasp. _No…did he—did he…shoot someone? Did he take a gun? _

He heard more screams and realized one of them, hoarse and barely a split second long, was his. He shook his head and, without even being aware that he did it, lunged for the open door, fighting to get away as Baldy grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back inside. "No!" he shouted. He had to get away before John, who apparently had a gun, came back.

"Come here, kid!" Baldy growled, and then suddenly Marty felt him shove a cloth over his nose and mouth. "No! Stop!" he exclaimed, frantically twisting to get away from the overpowering fumes. He held his breath when he couldn't turn away, and, out of the corner of his eyes, saw John run out of the store, his ski mask on, with a bag in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket. He jumped into the car and drove away, breathing hard. He looked over at the two struggling passengers and yelled, "What the hell is going on?"

"He heard the gun shot and tried to escape. Again." Baldy seethed, not removing the rag.

"I didn't shoot anyone." John frowned, looking at Marty, as if that was somehow going to calm him down. He stopped moving after a few moments, however, lack of oxygen sapping his limited strength and forcing darkness into the edges of his vision.

"Stop, let him go." John ordered, and, although surprised, Baldy did so, pushing Marty forward as he coughed and then sucked air into his burning lungs. Dizzy, he closed his eyes in hopes to reorient himself.

"Marty," John said, and he blinked, coming out of his daze. John stared at him for a moment before placing his eyes back on the road. "Alright, kid, you're gonna tell me _everything _you know about this thing. Right now."

Marty hesitated. _Damn it. If I tell them, they can just take me anywhere and screw up everything!_

John scowled and looked at Baldy, who, before Marty could even turn, whacked the back of his skull fairly hard. "Uh!" Marty exclaimed, his hand instantly going to the spot to rub it.

"Tell me. Or I promise you, that won't be the last." John threatened.

Marty blinked hard, finally realizing he had no choice. Hey, if it could help him avoid getting hit again, he'd tell them how to fly. "It runs on pretty much anything, like garbage…for it to time travel, I mean." he said. "You put it in the energy converter. And…you use those things to pick where you wanna go." He gestured at the time circuits.

"I knew he was lying about that." Baldy muttered loud enough to be heard.

"Shut up." John snapped, then turned his attention back to Marty. "And?"

"And you gotta go eighty-eight to make it work."

John said nothing more for at least thirty minutes, occasionally casting a glance in the mirror in case they were being followed, by police or anyone else, before he pulled off the road into the grass. He got out, walked around to the side Marty was on, and opened the door. "Get out," he ordered Baldy, who did so, and then John grabbed Marty's arm and pulled him out.

Marty grimaced as the man pushed him against the vehicle and said, "Look. You've worked this thing before, correct?"

"Mmhmm," Marty gave a nod.

"Good. Then do it again. _Now. _Get us back to 1985."

"Depends." Marty said, defiance creeping into his voice. "Will you let me go?"

With a hand, John reached out and smacked the side of Marty's head, pinning his arms to his sides before he could move. "You are _not _in the position to bargain with me." Marty exhaled shakily, hardly having time to grunt before John half dragged him to the other side and shoved him in the driver's seat. "Set them," he pointed at the glowing dates. He bent down and picked up a piece of paper, gesturing with an arm around at all of the trash littering the ground. "We can use the shit around here, right? That's what it'll run on?"

"Y-yes." Marty said reluctantly.

"Good." he smiled wickedly at the teen, who cringed under his gaze. "Then _you_ have some work to do."

* * *

MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope you had a great day, and, SURPRISE! My gift to you is an update. Sorry it was a bit later at night, no one will probably even read it today…But that's alright, just know that I hope you had a wonderful Christmas day (:

I have to say, in case anybody is wondering, that the part with John using the gun to rob the drugstore wasn't completely random. Badly written, yes, but not random. I need that for later chapters ;D Hint hint.

Want to know what took so long? No? Well, I'll tell you anyways ;D I rewrote most of this chapter…twice o_o I had the greatest idea of all hit me right before I finished it the first time, and I absolutely can't wait to start writing the next chapters!

Review, or don't, either way I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Whoa, long time no see, huh? Sorry about the months of waiting…*nervous chuckle*… But I'm back! *ahem* At least, for this update -_-" Anyways, this chapter is probably horribly horrible. I'm having a pretty bad case of writer's block, and usually when I try to write something during that, whatever it is sucks. But hey, I've given it a try, so don't kill me if it's terribly choppy, and makes absolutely no sense, which I'm pretty sure describes it right there. :P Anyways, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, and I hope I haven't lost all my readers and/or don't lose them after this…interesting piece of work…o_O Enjoy! **_

* * *

Chapter Six

"Come on, kid! Hurry up!"

Marty rolled his eyes as John yelled at him for the tenth time in just as many minutes, and he looked back in hatred. He loathed not being able to say all of the sarcastic remarks he itched to tell his kidnapper, but he didn't want to even think about what the consequences of that would be.

"It's easy to yell at me when your lazy ass is sitting in the air conditioning!" Marty retorted as silently as he could manage. He couldn't help it; he needed to get rid of the build-up of anger inside him in some way, otherwise he just might explode. The only other thing he could think about other than how uncomfortable and angry he was, was Doc. He had resorted to convincing himself that his friend would somehow save him, that being pretty much the only thing keeping him from losing all hope. Whether he really was or wasn't, Marty didn't know anymore.

He bent down once again and grabbed another piece of trash off the street. Taking the handfuls of garbage he had put in his pockets out, he stalked back to the DeLorean and threw the stuff into_ Mr. Fusion_, shutting the lid fairly hard.

John eyed Marty suspiciously. "That's enough?" he asked, and the teen nodded, leaning against the car. "Good," John said, grabbing Marty's wrist. "And you _did _set the circuits _correctly, _right?"

_You saw me do it, is your memory that bad? _Marty cleared his throat. "Yeah."

John smiled, and opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it before a sound came out and whipped around. Marty cried out as John—on accident or purposely, he didn't know—failed to release his wrist as he turned, twisting it along with him. Marty stumbled to stand beside him, trying to pull away from the man. "Stop it!" John hissed, and Marty blinked to see what he was looking at. A car had appeared a little ways down the road, and was heading their direction. John rolled his eyes. "Great." He finally released Marty, who gasped and clutched his hand to his chest.

John turned to Baldy and whispered something to him, and then both glared at Marty. "Uh…" Marty murmured, taking a step back. John put his hand inside his jacket pocket. "One wrong move and you won't live to see 1985 again." he warned.

Marty's eyes went to his jacket pocket, which had bulged out into the shape of a cylinder, pointing straight at him.

_A gun._ The realization hit Marty a second later, and he flinched.

"Are we clear?" John asked. Marty nodded expeditiously, not taking his eyes off the concealed weapon. "Turn around." John ordered, and Marty quickly did so, watching as the light brown car pulled to a halt beside theirs. A man with black hair, most likely in his late 40's, got out of the car. "Hi there," he greeted them cheerfully. He had a southern accent that, if it had been any stronger, would have been impossible to comprehend. "You folks need any help?"

"Ah," John began, "No, I think we're good."

The man nodded and took a deep breath, eyeing the vehicle behind them. "That's a…a nice car you got there."

"Yes," John said, beginning to feel uncomfortable. There was something about the way the guy was looking at him; he didn't like it.

"Did you happen to hear about a robbery that happened around 11 am this morning?"

John took his hand out of his pocket and shrugged. "No, sorry,"

"Mmhmm." The man nodded, obviously suspicious, and then reached into his pocket and held out a badge. "Elliot Jamison, Hill Valley undercover police officer." He said, and Marty went pale.

Jamison cleared his throat and got to speaking again. "I spoke to several witnesses about this morning's robbery and got a very detailed description of a masked man with every detail of your own but your face, and your vehicle, which wasn't very hard to find, because I've never seen anything like it."

Jamison glanced at Marty and scoffed. "And you brought your kid along…" he trailed off, grumbling. He shook his head and turned to his car, beginning to grab his handheld radio. "Alright, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask that all three of ya step away from the car and—_Uh!_" In a movement almost too fast to see, John had took three steps forward and brought the butt of his gun down on the officers head. Jamison dropped to the concrete, out cold. His mouth agape in horror, Marty looked at John, who then proceeded to point the gun at him. "Get…in…the…car…" He seethed, his teeth clenched.

Marty stared at the weapon and held his hands up, staggering back and walking around the front of the car to the passenger's seat. Breathing hard, John got into the driver's side and Baldy got in beside Marty. John put the car in full drive, _opposite _direction of the town, with Marty looking back to see the officer still on the ground. He whimpered without realizing it, and then sat back, trying to calm himself. The man would be fine when he woke up; John hadn't hit him _that _hard…had he?

_Damn, he's lost it! _Marty thought, watching as John pressed the gas pedal harder. "We're getting out of here, _now._" He said. "88, right?"

Marty nodded shakily. He glanced over at Baldy, who glared at him with the same chilling glare he'd always had towards him. _I'm gonna die. _Marty slowly put a hand to his forehead, and then raised his eyes to the speedometer, which showed 57 mph and gaining fast. Right before it got to 70, something caught Marty's eye. A car was suddenly visible on the on-coming traffic side—and John was driving in the middle of the road!

"Hey, w-watch out!" Marty tried to warn him, and only now did John seem to see it, and he swerved as the other car's horn exploded in beeps. He struggled to keep the DeLorean on the road, but, going 78 miles per hour, it wasn't an easy task. The car made a sharp right all on its own, went off into the dirt and grass, and kept going. John stomped on the break, but before it even had a chance to work, the car lurched violently forward and tipped over a hill.

"Shit!" John exclaimed, pushing on the break as hard as he could. It slowed their descent, but not enough to stop them completely, or to prevent from hitting several tree stumps at the bottom.

John opened his eyes after a few seconds—or minutes—and blinked, surprised at what had just happened, and more so that he was still alive. Then, as realization hit him, he yanked the door open and got out, his mouth hanging open. The hood was smashed in and had smoke trailing up from it. He cursed loudly at least ten times in a row, unbelieving.

Finally, he bent back inside the car. Baldy, just recovering now, shook his head and sat up, opening the door and getting out.

Marty groaned and straightened up, both hands on his head. If the headache the chloroform had caused him was agony, he had no words to describe what he felt now, and he barely remembered what had just happened.

"Get out, kid." John ordered. When Marty didn't respond, he repeated it, much louder this time. Marty turned to him, his eyes unfocused. "Whaa?" he mumbled. There was a small gash on his forehead, where John realized he must have hit it on the dashboard, but the bleeding had already stopped for the most part.

"Get out!" John yelled, his patience already tried because of the wreck.

Marty slowly got out, leaning onto the car for support. He blinked, struggling to clear his vision, which was shimmery and dim, like he was looking at everything from underwater.

"Damn it!" John exclaimed. "Now we'll never get back!" Enraged, he grabbed Marty by his shirt and pulled him to stand in front of him. The teen staggered and would have fallen had John not held onto him. He looked about to start yelling, but instead, dropped him and sighed. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Marty looked at the DeLorean, and instantly an overpowering sense of hopelessness washed over him. By just the one look he'd given it, he could tell it was beyond repair. _This is all your fault, asshole! _He screamed in his head, looking at John, and then was horrified to find he'd said this aloud. He staggered backwards, expecting John to strike him, but the kidnapper merely leaned back against the DeLorean, as if deep in thought. He flinched back as Baldy reached over to hit him, but John just swatted his accomplice's hand away. "Don't!" he growled. "We need to figure a way to fix this damn thing."

"If getting back was so important to you, then why the hell did you crash it!" Baldy demanded.

Marty sighed, listening to their yells get louder and sound more like children than grown men. _Now how the hell am I supposed to get back? I'll never see Jen again, or Doc, or…_He suddenly felt very sick to his stomach, and he blanched, bending over, his hands on his knees. Then, before he had time to think about much of anything, he slapped a hand over his mouth, ran into the bushes a few feet away, and threw up.

Finally, after a few moments, he fell back, shaking like a leaf caught in a hurricane. "Ohh…" he mumbled, spitting into the grass. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and trying his best to stop trembling, he stumbled back to the car, where both kidnappers were staring at him, having momentarily stopped fighting. Uncomfortable, Marty averted his gaze and shrugged, unsure of what to say. Within the same second, though, both of them turned back to the car, now just uttering curses and muttering to each other, obviously uncaring of anything going on with their captive.

Marty coughed, spitting again. Had the thoughts upset him more than he realized, or was it something else? He blinked and then sat on the grass where he stood, massaging his temples in hope to rid himself of his headache. _Jesus, Doc, where are you? _

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, I know this was a horrible chapter, yes, I know it was WAY shorter than usual, and YES, I know there's not a part about Doc. I couldn't think of anything for this chapter. Do you know how long it took me to write this? Very, very, very, very long ^_^ BUT, there will be a part with Doc in the next chapter :P AGAIN, I'm sorry for the late update…ahem…REALLY late update…but I will start working on the next [better!] chapter A.S.A.P and get it up soon! Thanks for reading, reviewing, and just supporting me! :D See you soon!**_


	7. Chapter 7

Whoa! Chapter 7! Finally, right? Sorry it's been so long, once again! But now that it's summer vacation, I have a lot more time to focus on finishing this fic, which is at the top of my 'To Do' list. I am going to try to update every OTHER Saturday (with the exception of today), so be sure to look out for that (though as slow as ideas have been flowing for me lately, I can't promise anything!) So, on to the story, ENJOY! Or, don't…whichever: D

Chapter Seven

"Doc, what _exactly _are we doing again?" Jen raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the seat of the scientist's van. Doc glanced over at her briefly, then put his eyes back on the road, in deep concentration. "The DeLorean, which was being followed by authorities, was last seen on this path. If we can find the skid marks from the tires, we'll know for sure if they have travelled to a different time."

"Uh-huh." Jen nodded, and then shook her head, still fuzzy on the whole time traveling thing. She'd never quite understood it whenever Marty brought it up, which had been at least once a week or more, but of course she'd never asked about it. She looked out the windshield as well, her eyes scanning the path in the fading sunlight. "Are you sure—whoa!" Jen exclaimed as Doc literally slammed on the brakes, and she jerked forward. "Sorry." Doc apologized, and then pointed. "There!"

The two got out of the vehicle and stared at the road in front of them. Sure enough, black marks stretched about seven feet down, and Jen asked, "That's it?"

"Yes." Doc said, his voice taking on a depressed tone. He waved her back into the van, and they drove back to the house to inform Clara.

"So you'll be taking the steam engine?" Clara asked, and Doc nodded. He glanced over at Jen as she impatiently shifted and said, "Alright, let's go!"

Doc didn't move, giving her a sympathetic look. "You can't…I don't want…" he took a breath. "You're staying here."

"What?" Jen demanded, frowning.

Doc shook his head. "I don't want you getting hurt. And with these guys, it shouldn't be too hard." He went into another room for a moment, and came back with a hand in his pocket. His expression was grim.

"Doc, I have to go! You can't just—"

"No, Jennifer!" Doc said, his tone so completely and utterly serious that she stopped talking immediately. He opened the door. "I'll bring him back as soon as possible." He said, and walked out, shutting it softly behind him. Jen and Clara stood staring at the wood, shocked. Neither had ever heard the inventor sound like that before. "It'll be okay," Clara soothed after a moment of silence, placing a hand on Jennifer's shoulder. "He'll find him."

"Yeah." Jen murmured, her eyes stinging. "I hope so."

* * *

"Hurry up, kid!"

Marty sighed as John criticized his slow pace for at least the fifth time. They'd decided to leave the DeLorean where it was and walk the opposite direction of where they had just come from. According to someone they'd stopped and asked, there was another town not too far from where they were now. They were planning on getting someone to come out and fix the car, but they'd been walking for an hour or more and still there was no sign of a town. Marty staggered along, a good ten feet behind the two kidnappers, exhausted and in a daze. They didn't seem to even notice him apart from John yelling at him to keep up once and a while, as if they were certain he wasn't going to run. And they were right—with how tired he was right now, he wouldn't make it more than a few strides before they would catch up. And there was no point anyways; the DeLorean—his only ticket back to 1985—was totaled until they reached someone who cared enough to drive all the way back however far they'd come.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they actually reached something that, at least, _resembled _a town. It was more like four stores, a gas station, a very small hotel, and then the rest of it was houses spread out all down the road. The three of them got stares from the very few people who were on the street, and John eyed everyone warily, expecting someone to confront them. _But this isn't even the same town_, he reminded himself. _No one will have heard of it this fast. And hopefully, by the time they do, we'll be gone. _

Thankfully, one of the shops actually _was _a repair shop, but unfortunately they had already closed for the night. "Damn it!" John shouted after pounding on the door several times, and then looked around quickly to be sure he hadn't drawn attention to himself. He shook his head and walked back to where the he'd left the two. Baldy leaned against the windows of a store, and Marty had sat down on the nearest bench, breathing hard and very pale. John walked over to the teen. "You okay?"

Marty raised his head, sickened more than he already was, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Had this kidnapper, who'd threatened him more times than he could remember and hit him just as many, just asked if he was _okay_?

"You're…kidding, right?" he managed finally. John frowned but kept the same almost-but-not-quite caring look on his face, which only upset Marty more. "Hell no I'm not!" He answered, anger giving him strength. But it didn't last long, and he leaned back with a groan, the loudness of his own voice having caused his headache to worsen.

John shrugged and grabbed something out of his jacket pocket, and Marty flinched before he realized it was only money. _The stuff he stole, probably, _He thought vaguely.

"Stay there." John ordered, and Marty closed his eyes, no thought of doing anything but that even entering his mind. What seemed liked only a second later, he opened his eyes to see John in front of him, holding out a bottle of water. Marty gave him a strange glare, slowly took the water, and then hesitantly opened it and took a drink. He wasn't sure what the kidnapper was up to, but he was being almost—nice? _No_, Marty thought, _if he had any _nice_ in him, none of this would ever have happened._

John pointed in the direction of the small hotel and said, "We'll wait for the repair shop to open at 6am." He frowned. "And then we're out of here."

_Yeah, hopefully. _Marty stood as the other two started towards the hotel. By the time they got there, Marty was at the verge of collapsing, but he managed to act alright until they got a room and were through the door. With a groan he staggered, barely making it to the bed before his legs finally gave way. He fell onto the scratchy sheets, asleep almost instantly.

"Kid, what—" John realized the teen was dead to the world and stopped talking. He looked at him for a long while before he shook his head. "We really need to get back."

"Since when do you care about _him_?" Baldy asked, and John immediately whipped around to face him. "I don't." he said with absolutely no emotion. "I just don't want to wait around to get arrested."

Baldy shrugged and turned, and neither of them spoke another word.

* * *

After walking more than a mile, Doc Brown arrived in the 1961 version of Hill Valley. He'd had to put the steam engine where no one would find it, and unfortunately that had been quite far away.

He sighed in relief as he saw the town ahead, and then quickly went to searching. He had absolutely no idea if the three were even still in this town, but he had to try, though he didn't exactly know where to start. His eyes flickered to down the street, where there were at least seven police cars outside of what looked to be a convenient store. He half walked, half ran over to the commotion, and then to the nearest officer. "What—what's going on?" He asked, nearly out of breath.

The officer rolled his eyes and sighed. "Armed robbery took place this afternoon." He said, his voice sounding as if nothing surprised him anymore.

_Oh God. _Doc slowly put a hand to his forehead. "Did you arrest them? Or do you even know who—"

"No and no, what does it mean to you?"

Doc frowned and managed to come up with a slightly believable lie. "I might have some information on it, that's all."

The man's eyes were suddenly a lot more interested in the inventor. "Oh. Well, no they haven't caught the guy. One of our undercover officers got close. Found them driving down towards another little town not too far away, but apparently he was assaulted and had to come back. We already got some officers down there to drive through, but they couldn't see anything suspicious."

Doc closed his eyes and shook his head. _Could they have hid the DeLorean? _He realized the cop had asked something, and he murmured, "Mm?"

"I said," the officer frowned, obviously losing patience. "So what is the information you have on the crime?"

"Uh…" Doc began, but suddenly one of the other officers called over the one in front of him. "Stay there," the cop said, and as soon as he turned his back, Doc slipped away from the scene, not slowing his pace until he was sure he was a good distance away. The last thing he needed was to be held up by questioning.

He suddenly stopped. How did he know for sure this wasn't just a random robbery, having nothing to do with what he was looking for? He sighed, realizing he had to at least try. _But how far away is the 'little town'? _

After walking for a good ten minutes, he finally waved down a car and asked the man. "About 7 miles back that way," The driver pointed to the way Doc was heading.

"Thank you," Doc managed a smile, but it faded as he began walking. That was at least a two hour walk, and it was getting dark, but he didn't turn back. If he had any chance of finding Marty, he would take it. And right now, this was the best he could come up with.

_Oh Marty, where are you? _

* * *

OKAY! Finally, chapter 7 is COMPLETED! This took me a little over 3 weeks of continuously writing down ideas and putting them together, but only 1 week to finish/edit it after school ended..._ I just blame school for everything, don't I? :D I'm surprised, though. Doc's part was actually easier for me to write than Marty's this time :D

SO, sorry again for the late update, and for the terrible quality/shortness of this chapter. Please don't review to tell me I'm literally losing my ability to write anything even halfway good...because I already know that :P Don't worry, only a few more chapters left… Anyways, I hope you…_ kind of _liked it, and I'll see you in about two weeks!


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **_**Okay, so, this chapter is much different from the others. First of all, it skips around a LOT, but there was simply no other way I could tell what was happening to both Doc and Marty at the same time without doing so. The next chapter will not be like that. Second of all, if the ending seems really abrupt, you're totally right. I had to cut a 4,000+ chapter into two because it was FAR too long. But at least the next chapter won't be late:) Enough of my rambling, here is the [late and possibly OOC] next part of my story, ENJOY!**

Chapter Eight

Doc Brown wiped a hand across his forehead, shaking his head. He was beginning to think the man he'd asked had been lying about how far he'd have to walk. Surely it'd been 7 miles by now, it felt like 30! He heard rustle in the bushes beside him, and jumped at least two feet, walking just a bit faster. Normally he wouldn't have been startled by such; it was obviously just an animal or maybe even the wind. But he was worn out from walking and even he had to admit that, with how dark it was on this street, with lights few and far between, it was certainly a bit creepy.

He kept waiting to see the glimmer of the town in the distance, but it seemed the road would never end. But of course, he had time to get there. It was most likely around 12, he still had hours before daylight, which he feared was the only time he would have a good chance at finding Marty if he was there.

He stepped onto the grass as a car appeared behind him, and waited for it to pass. He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eyes. It was a large figure, at the bottom of the hill he was standing on. He squinted, took a few careful steps towards the edge, and realized too late that he'd stepped much closer than he'd thought. He turned on his heels and tried to regain his balance, but couldn't stop himself from toppling over and tumbling down the grassy slope. He hit whatever was at the bottom was impressive force, and everything went even darker than the night.

* * *

Marty awoke to someone shaking his shoulder, and he turned onto his side, dizzied by the movement. He blinked and glanced up to see John. "Get up, we're leaving." He said softly, and Marty sat up. He rubbed his eyes and tried to figure out why it was so dark, finally gaining enough sense to turn and look at the clock. Of course, it was only six in the morning; the sun hadn't even risen yet. He swung his feet to the floor, stumbling forward. He knew he should have been feeling hungry—he'd barely had anything to eat in two days! But he wasn't; in fact, even the thought of food caused the nausea that never seemed to leave him to worsen, and for the first time he suddenly truly worried that he'd been hurt more than just a scratch or two in the car crash.

He followed the two downstairs, but as they crossed the street towards the mechanic's shop, he merely got more of an uneasy feeling in his stomach. What if the mechanic suspected them, or worse, called the police on them? He knew John must be having the same worries, or at least some of them, because for the first time since they'd been trailed by police cars back in 1985, he looked nervous. Not just nervous, _afraid._ Every time someone even looked at them, before in the hotel or now, he tensed up and walked faster. Baldy had the same reaction to eye contact with anyone. They had to get the DeLorean fixed. All three of them knew this was the last shot they had. Someone was bound to turn them in eventually, and if that happened, they'd never get back.

John went up to the store and knocked on the door. After a few moments, a man in a black shirt with overalls answered the door, looking like he too had just woken up. "Uh-huh?" he murmured, then cleared his throat and added, "How can I be of service to ya?"

"We just need our car fixed." John said, monotone. "We wrecked it about a mile or two back down the road."

The man scratched his head, nodded, and said, "Give me two minutes to get my car and I'll drive us down there. It shouldn't take long, depending on the amount of damage it took." He sounded like he was reading the words off a script.

John nodded and the mechanic walked around the side of the store, disappearing behind the corner. He glanced at Marty, his eyes threatening, and Marty looked away, getting the message to be silent all too clear. He leaned against the wall, still exhausted, and closed his eyes, the light that was beginning to color the sky causing his head to ache again. He heard the sound of a motor and blinked as Baldy, who was suddenly right next to him, subtly grabbed his arm and pulled him into the backseat of the car. "Alright," the mechanic said, tapping the toolbox by his feet as John got into the passenger seat and looked at him. "Which way?"

* * *

Doc opened his eyes and groaned, first aware that he was in such a position that he was practically sitting up, leaning against a hard object. The sky was beginning to turn a light blue already, and he stared at the disappearing stars for a moment in disbelief. It had been just barely midnight when he'd been walking! As his senses returned, he groaned at the pain in his back and head, and it took a few moments for him to finally gather up the strength to move. He stood very slowly, placing a hand on the object for support. Almost instantly he realized what it was, and his blood ran cold—the DeLorean.

"Marty!" he mumbled, staggering over to the side of it and yanking on the door handle. There was no one in it, and he shook his head. Why would they leave their way of getting around here? Doc shut the door and gasped, running his eyes along the hood, which barely looked like it was part of the car anymore. It was terribly dented and mangled, along with the rest of the front. He realized they had crashed into several tree stumps at the bottom, and suddenly a pang of fear ran through him. Was Marty alright? He struggled to calm his nerves; there was no sign that anyone in the vehicle could have been hurt, the damage wasn't that far into it. He could have been banged up, but not horribly injured. He sighed and rubbed his head, trying to think, when suddenly a car pulled up to the side, and Doc was just out of sight as he bent down. Not exactly sure what to do, he instinctively fled into the surrounding trees, hiding himself just in time to see four figures emerge from the vehicle. He nearly fainted with relief as he saw the last passenger, stumbling along behind the other three as they made their way down the hill.

_Marty…_

* * *

The mechanic rummaged through his toolbox as he walked to the front of the DeLorean, and when he finally did look up, he turned and gaped at the man. Setting his toolbox down on the ground, he murmured, "Hell, if I thought you meant_ this_ kind of damage…" he trailed off, suddenly very interested in the car. He took several steps back as if to look at the entire thing, and then he noticeably tensed.

John frowned, seeing this. "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

The mechanic's eyes flashed as he turned to the three. His expression had changed from calm to something that might have been a hint of fear. "Nothing." he said, although his tone was suspicious and wandering. "I've just…never seen a car like this before."

John shook his head, replying, "Do you think you can still fix it?"

The mechanic gave a slight shrug, grabbed his toolbox, and then started towards his car, failing to mask how badly he obviously wanted to get out of there. "Uh, I think I might have to refer you to someone else…"

Something clicked beside Marty and he groaned inwardly, recognizing it instantly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Turn around." John ordered, and the mechanic did so, his eyes widening as they fell on the gun. "I know you can fix it, and if you were smart, you'd start doing that right now." The mechanic didn't move, so John extended his arm fully towards the man and gestured towards the car. "I said, _now_. I don't care how long it takes."

His free arm up slightly in surrender, the mechanic mumbled, "Okay, okay!" before walking back over to the DeLorean.

John turned his attention to Baldy behind him. "Watch the kid." He said, walking over to the car to make sure the man didn't try to escape until he was done. Shakily, the mechanic murmured, "The cops came by yesterday. They described your car…You're the ones who robbed the store in Hill Valley."

"Be quiet," John frowned, glaring at the man, who slowly stood and went around to the front of the vehicle, barely taking his eyes off the gun.

Baldy grabbed Marty's shirt, clenching his fist and raising it so it was in his line of vision. "Don't move." he growled right in Marty's ear, and the teen nodded. He looked up at the road as Baldy released him, and through the fog that had now become his reality, he briefly began thinking once again about waving down a car before he remembered he couldn't. He hardly had any hope of rescue left, and he truly was beginning to believe Doc would never come. _Not that he was ever really coming in the first place, _Marty reminded himself, _you made that all up. _But somewhere deep down he knew he had to hold onto that thought; he'd saved his friend before, and he had to believe that he would do the same for him. _And if I've ever needed to be rescued—_Marty glanced over at his kidnappers, one pointing a gun at an innocent person and the other ready to knock him into next week—_it's definitely now. _

* * *

It was nearly an hour before Doc even moved a muscle, hardly daring to do even that for fear of making enough noise to be noticed. He'd gone over countless plans of action in his head before this moment, of what he was going to do when he saw the men, but now, as he was in range of hearing what they were saying, none of them seemed to be good ideas. Not when, with just the twitch of his finger, the man could kill the mechanic currently working on the DeLorean, or Marty, or even him. Not with so many lives on the line could he simply walk out in hopes of defeating them. He would wait at least until the kidnapper released the mechanic, when the three were alone and no one who didn't belong there was involved. He took out something from his pocket, covering the side of it with his hand so the metal didn't catch the sunlight and reflect it towards them. He nodded, placed his eyes back on the men, and waited. _Hold on, Marty. _

* * *

EMBRACE THE AWESOME-NESS OF THIS CHAPTER.

Seriously though, I'm actually really confident about the chapter this time (: I guess that's the result of so many nice reviewers on the other 7 :)

Hope you liked it! Until next week, and have a good 4th of July, or if you don't celebrate that, than just a good week :)


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **_**OMG. Only one chapter more after this one, and it will be uploaded Saturday! This was originally going to be one ****really**** long 4,000+ word chapter, but I figured why not once again cut it into two parts and have a last cliffhanger on it? I'm so evil, but it's so fun! ^^ ENJOY!**

**(((((SPECIAL THANK YOU: Thank you so much to the anonymous reviewer, ****'Someone Random.'**** Your review, in particular, was so incredibly nice it literally made my entire week :D)))))**

Chapter Nine

"Can't you hurry up?" John growled, annoyed, staring at the mechanic he held at gunpoint. The man opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, apparently thought better of it, and instead silently shook his head. John rolled his eyes; it had only been an hour or so, but with the police suspicious, they needed to get out of there as fast as they could manage.

Baldy, only a few feet away from the two men, glanced back at their captive, who had fallen into a feverish sleep almost as soon as he'd sat down and leaned against the hill a half-hour ago. He frowned as, all of a sudden, he found himself wondering if he was alright. Then he turned back around, crossing his arms. _Why should I care?_ The only thing the kid had done was cause trouble for them, and just for that, Baldy couldn't dislike him _less._ But now, for a brief, strange moment, he saw it differently. He wasn't just a problem they'd accidentally gotten themselves into; he was a teenager who'd been kidnapped and, now, was apparently sick. He then shook his head, refusing to let himself feel how he did any longer. As soon as the man fixed the car, they'd all be out of this Hell, and he'd never have to see the kid again, that being exactly how it should be.

Marty blinked, confused, his blurred gaze landing on John as he impatiently shifted a few feet to his left, bringing the hand holding the gun closer to his chest as if tired of pointing it at the man for—how long had they been there? Marty couldn't know for sure. The heat, thirst and head pain he just couldn't complain about really starting to get to him; he felt horrible and exhausted, almost like he'd been drugged with sleeping pills. He drifted in and out of consciousness for the two and a half more hours the mechanic worked on the DeLorean, almost grateful for the moments where he wasn't overwhelmed by his headache.

When finally the man had completed the repairs (which Marty had been almost sure was impossible,) John waved towards the man's car with the gun, and waited until the he had gathered up his tools before following him back to the vehicle. "Call the police, and there's not going to be a mechanic in your town anymore." John said as the man closed the door, pointing the gun at him. The man nodded vigorously, and John placed the weapon back in his jacket as he drove off. Baldy, who was a few yards behind him, asked, "How do you know he won't call the cops?"

"Oh I know he _will_," John shrugged. "But we're going to be out of here before they can find us." They both started back down the hill, and John stood in front of Marty's sleeping form. "Get up." He ordered, and when Marty didn't stir, he grabbed his arm and yanked on it. "Uh!" Marty exclaimed, jolting awake. "Get. Up." He ordered once again. Whatever almost-kindness John had had before was apparently gone now, because he glared at the teen unsympathetically as he struggled up. "Come on, get in the car, we're leaving."

"I don't think so."

Both kidnappers turned around to see who had spoken, incredulous.

"Doc!" Marty gawked at the scientist, who looked more solemn than ever before. He unwittingly took a step forward—only to be shoved back by John, who'd seen his movement out of the corner of his eye. Marty stared at Doc, overcome both joy and fear, but his friend had his eyes on John. "What are you doing here, old man?" John chuckled. Baldy stood beside him, staring threateningly at Doc, whom he was a good half foot taller than, but the man seemed undaunted.

Doc finally made eye contact with Marty for a brief second. "I'm taking _him_ back." He said, and John shook his head. "Oh no, you're not." John said, and with lightning-fast movements, he turned around, grabbed Marty by his hair, and forced him in front of him. Marty clenched his teeth but did not cry out.

"You don't call the shots, _I_ do. And right now, I'm telling you to get the _HELL _away from the car, and us, and go back to whatever you came here in. I will let the kid go as soon as we're back in 1985."

"I'll let you leave," Doc said, louder now. "I just want him back. I don't care about the money, the car, anything. Just give me—"

"Listen!" John shouted, irate, and both Marty and Doc flinched simultaneously as he took out his gun and pressed it into Marty's back. "If you want him back alive at _all_, you will get out of here now!"

Doc held his hands up, and began walking up the hill, not taking his eyes off John the entire time. _Doc, please, no! _Marty mouthed desperately. But something told him to trust his friend, and he didn't struggle as John pushed him towards the car. "Get in," John ordered, tucking his gun back in his pocket, and releasing Marty as he began to climb into the seat. As soon as the man's hands left Marty, Doc faced them from the top of the hill, reached into his pocket and grabbed the object he'd brought with him, got a firm grip on it, aimed—and promptly _shot _both kidnappers before they could even take another step. They dropped like stones, and Doc rushed down to Marty, who stood pressed against the car, trembling and whiter than a sheet, his eyes frantic. "Y-y-you sh-shot them!" he gasped, and Doc gave him a small, weak smile, showing him the weapon he'd just used. "It's only a stun gun." He said, and Marty still looked so genuinely frightened that Doc bent towards him and brought him into his arms. "It's okay," he soothed, and Marty shook his head. "Oh my God, Doc…" he mumbled, his voice hoarse. "I—I—"

"It's okay," Doc repeated, "it's over."

After several minutes, Marty pulled away gently, feeling very ill again. Just by eyeing him, Doc could instantly tell more than just fear was wrong. He was holding his stomach with one arm, had a gash on his forehead—which seemed to be very new—and his eyes were cloudy and unfocused even though he was staring right at the scientist. "Marty," he began warily, "Were you hurt in the crash?"

Marty hesitantly shrugged. "I—I don't know," he murmured honestly. "I don't really remember it." He watched as Doc's expression turned to one of concern. "Wh-what?" the teen asked, but Doc only shook his head. "Nothing." he said, and then after a moment added, "Do you think you can sit on the console for the trip back?"

Confused, Marty slowly nodded and got in. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but he placed his feet over on the passenger seat, and that made it less cramped. He turned to Doc, about to ask why, and then widened his eyes as Doc began pulling one of the kidnappers into the car. Startled, he nearly fell over before practically yelling, "What—why are y-you taking them with us?"

"Because, if we leave them here, there is a chance it could cause a problem." Doc hauled the second one in and shut the door, getting the driver's seat and starting the engine. He looked at Marty, who was staring at him as if he'd just slapped him, and Doc shook his head almost helplessly. He backed up and managed to make it over the hill. Then, he threw it in drive and quickly started back towards Hill Valley.

Marty was obviously terrified of the men, because in only three minutes of continuously staring at them, he had not only moved his feet from their side to Doc's side, but had also unconsciously scooted all the way over on the small center console, almost falling into the driver's seat. "Sorry," Marty mumbled, edging a bit back over once he realized what he was doing. He had a terrible feeling—that this had all been much too easy. After the past three or so days, he now just expected it never to end. He kept trying to say something about it, but couldn't find the words to do so. He knew he wouldn't quite be able to let himself relax until he was home, but with Doc there it definitely felt safer. They drove off the road as they reached Hill Valley, and Doc tensed, hoping no one saw them do so. It wouldn't exactly make the trip back easier if they were being chased by suspicious officers who recognized the car.

Finally, after what seemed like forever of rough travel over the grass and rocks, they reached where Doc had hidden—or more so, _tried _to hide—the much larger second time machine. He parked, and then cautiously glanced at the kidnappers, even though he believed they would be out for a while longer still. He couldn't be sure, however, as he'd never used it before; and that was what worried him. He also couldn't be too careful, not with Marty's rescue so close to being successful. He helped Marty out of the car and the teen unsteadily made his way over to the locomotive, leaning against the metal while Doc opened the stairway. "Th-thank you," Marty finally managed to stammer as he got in. Doc gave another small smile, as if he, too, could not relax yet.

Within five minutes, he'd hauled both men into the time machine, placing them on the ground. He took one last trip to the DeLorean, ripping out the time circuit keypad and wiring, disabling the function, and taking the fuel system off the back of it, rendering it just a strange-looking vehicle. He brought these things back with him to the steam engine, closed the doorway, and started it up. A moment later, the whole thing rose into the air, turned, and sped off.

When they arrived back in 1985 just a moment later, Doc landed the thing on the abandoned train track near the edge of town like he always did, walked to the payphone across the street, and called the police. "Yes," he murmured into the receiver, squinting in the dying sunlight. "I know where the men who've robbed the stores earlier this week are." Though he didn't say it, he vowed that, if the police didn't know already, he would be sure they figured out the men were kidnappers, too. He gave them the address, clunked the phone back on the hook, and made it back to the locomotive. He first made sure Marty was safely in his van before he went back to drag the two kidnappers into the little warehouse next to the track. He looked at them for a long minute, wondering if he should wait until the police got there, but then realized he couldn't. Marty needed a doctor, and that was far more important to him. He turned, and suddenly there was movement behind him. As he spun to face towards the men, he heard a distinctive click. He looked down at John, who, though still lying down, Doc could make out he was holding his gun in his hand—pointed straight at him. The man groaned and sat up, blinking, and then focused his glare on the scientist, shaking his head. "You think you can just get away, just like that?" he asked, getting to his feet, his other hand on the wall of the warehouse for support. "That I would just _let _you have it that easy?"

Doc was silent, regretting he _hadn't_ just left them, and so John continued. "I lost all of the money I had, either here or in nineteen-whatever-it-was. And it's all—because—of you and that damn kid." He growled, taking a step closer. Doc swallowed hard but kept a firm gaze on the man. He slowly began to reach into his pocket, but remembered with a jolt of fear he'd left the stun gun on the van. "Don't you dare," John said, eyeing his hand, unaware he didn't have it. Doc put his arms stiffly by his sides. "I'm smarter than you think, Dr. Brown." He said. "How do you think I would have ever even known about the sleep inducer?"

"How _did _you know?" he asked quietly, half trying to buy time for something to save him, but also strangely curious.

The kidnapper clicked his tongue. "I guess it's not surprising you don't remember me." He said slowly.

Doc squinted at him, and for the first time, _did _in fact see something vaguely familiar about him. "I…I don't…"

John chuckled. "Three years ago?" he murmured, as if giving a child a hint in a scavenger hunt.

_Great Scott… _Doc blinked, unable to believe he hadn't realized it before. "You were—you came into that electrical store the same day I did, when I bought the last part for the sleep inducer!"

"There you go." John sneered.

**A/N: *Gasp!* I just can't make good, solid bad guys, can I? I apparently just **_**have**_** to make them question what they're doing at least once, even if it never happens again. Huh. I'll have to work on that x)**

**Even though there's a bit more explanation on it in the next part, I hope you can forgive me for not being able to find a more descent reason for John knowing about the sleep inducer. I didn't plan on this scene even happening, but I started experimenting how I could end the story and it just kind of struck me as a good idea, even though I couldn't exactly think of how to do it. See you Saturday!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I can't believe this is the last chapter :O I am so sad D: But let me blab about that at the end of this, and for the final time of this story, ENJOY! (: **

Chapter Ten

Back in Doc's van, Marty blinked and sat straight up, dazed, glancing out the window to see if his friend was coming anytime soon. He didn't know how long it'd actually been, but it felt like hours. He looked over at the warehouse by chance and, in what sunlight was barely there, saw not one, but_ two_ shadows on the ground outside the opened door. His blood ran cold and he froze. "Damn!" Marty murmured quietly, hardly needing to think before he knew what was going on. Opening the car door as quietly as he could, he grabbed Doc's stun gun, which he'd happened to see lying across the driver's seat, hoping it still worked. He cautiously made his way over to the side of the warehouse, ducking down so no one could see him outside the window. He heard Doc's voice inside, and then flinched as he also heard John's. He'd been sure he knew before, but finding out he'd been right was nearly too much for him. Dizzily, he steadied himself by putting a hand on the ground, and struggled to tune in the conversation.

"I saw you drive away in that van of yours, after talking about your sleep inducer to the woman behind the counter." John was saying. "And back then, I didn't think much of it. But when I needed the money, I knew exactly what I had to have to get it undetected, and uncaught; _and _how to find it."

Doc was once again silent, ashamed he could have been so foolish to speak so carelessly of his invention, though he had known the woman. Even _then _he remembered being a little suspicious of the man, who had noticeably walked just a bit closer when he'd been talking. He started as John took a step and was suddenly right in front of him, his gun pointed at Doc's chest.

Marty peered in through the window with a silent gasp, trembling violently and trying to get a grip on the weapon he barely knew how to use. C_ome on! _he pleaded. He wouldn't let anyone else get hurt by these men, especially not Doc.

The other kidnapper had begun to stir too, and John smiled wickedly, putting his attention back on Doc. "And I am _not_ going to jail because of you." He finished, and Doc closed his eyes. He heard two loud shots, both right next to him, and waited for the pain—until he realized _he_ wasn't the one who was shot. John staggered back, dropped the gun, and fell to the ground. Doc whipped around to see Marty, holding the stun gun, pointed straight at where John had just been standing. "Yeah, you are." Marty breathed shakily, and then looked at Doc, who was staring back, his eyes wide. He feared the worst, squinting to look Marty over from where he stood, but saw no sign of new injury, and then finally understood the other shot he'd heard had also been from the stun gun, and had hit Baldy, who was once again still. Before he could say anything, Marty dropped the weapon and stumbled back with a groan. "Doc, I...I don't..." He never finished the sentence. His knees buckled, and Doc, who'd seen it coming a mile away, reached out with lightning-fast reflexes, catching him just before he would have hit the ground. After a moment of nearly overwhelming shock, Doc picked up Marty and carried him back to the van. With difficulty he managed to start the car, even though he was shaking terribly, and left the warehouse in the total darkness that had now fallen.

The next thing Marty knew, he was lying in a dimly-lit room, and it took him a few moments to realize he was in a hospital bed. He felt something wrapped around his head, and tried to raise his hand to it, but found it was being held by someone's soft grip. He blinked, seeing two blurred figures beside him, one sitting and one standing. "Mom? 'Zat you?" he murmured, his words unintentionally slurred into each other.

"It's okay," his mother replied. "You've been asleep for almost the entire day."

"Ohhhh…" He moaned, and then suddenly, foolishly, added, "That _is _you, isn't it?" After all the other times, he almost felt he couldn't be sure anymore.

Lorraine McFly smiled. "Yes, honey." She sounded as if she'd been crying. "And Jennifer's right here, too. How are you feeling?"

As she said this, Marty finally became aware of something. For the first time in what felt like forever, he had no headache; in fact, he had no pain _anywhere_! "Better," he said. He looked at his mother and then at Jennifer, whom both he could now see clearly, and then truly smiled for the first time since what had happened. "Oh Marty," Jen said slowly, "I was so worried about you!" She stood up, leaned over, and kissed his cheek.

"Where's…" Marty began, his mouth dry. "Where's Doc?"

"Dr. Brown?" His mother looked behind her as if just now realizing he wasn't there. "He was here earlier. I think he went to rest." She shook her head, looking up at the ceiling. "He looked almost as bad as you did! I've thanked him a hundred times and still can't do it enough."

Marty looked at the door as it opened, and a nurse came into the small room. She smiled at him and then waved a clipboard in her hand. "You seem better," she said cheerfully. "And you should be good as new with a week or two of rest." She glanced at the board. "Let's see, there were no serious injuries; a few cuts, mostly bruises, and a concussion."

Marty put a hand on his head, where he found a bandage around it. The doctor smiled once again and said, "Don't worry, it wasn't anything extreme. You'll be fine with rest."

"Ah, y-yeah, yeah thanks." Marty stammered, biting his lip. She glanced at his arm, and he looked down at his left wrist, which, because he hadn't yet moved it, he hadn't noticed it had an I.V. in it. "Are you in any pain?" she asked. "We've just given you some more pain medication, but you'll know if it's not kicking in; you'll have a pretty nasty headache."

_No kidding. _"I'm feeling great." Marty smiled at her, and she nodded. "I'll check on you in a bit." She said, and then left them alone. His mother smiled at him and then said, "You're father was here all night, too. I'll call him!" She hurried out of the room as Marty leaned back, and Jennifer smiled, taking his hand. "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too," Marty replied. She brushed her hand against his cheek, and he flinched, much to her surprise. She jerked her hand back, thinking she'd hurt him, and he stared at her apologetically. "No—it's not—you didn't—" He winced and shook his head. "It wasn't you." He said finally, and she sighed sadly, stroking her finger along his hand. After a few moments, he closed his eyes, abruptly exhausted, and what only seemed like a second later, Jennifer had left, and someone else was in the room. "Doc!" The inventor turned around to face him. "I thought you were asleep." Doc murmured slowly, placing his hands on the back of the seat his mother had been in before. "How are you?"

"A lot better," Marty said honestly. "And you?"

Doc nodded. "Thank you." He said.

"Thank you for _everything_," Marty smiled slightly, and then blinked at him, a serious look crossing his face. "Did you find out if they were arrested?"

"Yes. Both of them are in custody now. They're to be sentenced sometime in the next week or two." Marty sank back with a sigh of relief. Then he looked to him, suddenly curious. "Wh—where did you get a stun gun?" he asked.

Doc cleared his throat. "Well, that morning I brought you back to my lab…I wasn't _exactly _working on my lamp…" he gave a half-smile. "I was afraid they might come back even then, but I hadn't wanted to worry you." He saw Marty's look of disbelief, and immediately added, "It was at my house when they came to the lab."

Marty nodded slowly, his eyelids all of a sudden very heavy. Whatever pain killer drug he was on had apparently reduced his strength to very little. Doc must have seen him struggling, because he stood and said, "I'll let you rest."

Right as he was leaving, Marty called softly, "Doc?"

"Yes?" He turned around, a hand still on the doorknob.

"Please…don't ever build another time machine." His tone was half joking and half dead serious.

Doc smiled softly. "Alright," he said, and closed the door.

—_**Two Weeks Later—**_

Marty McFly sat on his living room couch, staring out the window, his mind somewhere else as he listened to the low volume of the television he'd turned on just to get rid of the silence. He glanced over at the phone as it rang, and got up to grab it. "Hello?"

"Hello Marty," Dr. Brown answered quietly. "How are you doing?"

"I'm…fine. Good as new." Marty said hesitantly. He decided not to mention the fact that, although all his actual injuries were practically healed, he was _still _scared out of his mind that something else was going to happen. But he'd kept it from every conversation when this question came up, and he was determined to keep it that way, although he didn't quite know why.

"Hmm," Doc murmured, and Marty wasn't sure if he believed him or not, but he didn't say anything else about it. He was silent for a moment, and the teen asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Doc replied almost instantly, and Marty knew he'd also been lying. "I—I just still can't believe…I never thought…I'm so sorry. I feel like this has been my fault entirely."

"Get outta town, Doc, no way!" Marty said comfortingly. "You didn't know."

Doc cleared his throat. "I suppose." He finally muttered, though his voice hinted he still felt the exact opposite. He drew breath to say something else, but then Marty heard either Jules' or Verne's voice in the background, and Doc softly said, "I've got to be going."

"Yeah. See ya." Marty said, and suddenly _he _felt bad as he placed the phone back on the table. Not only had he completely failed to contact his friend, who'd in fact saved his life, in the last two weeks he'd been home, but he never once quite thought the man would react to everything that had happened by automatically thinking it was his fault because he'd known the burglar/kidnapper for an hour. He sighed, sitting back on the couch and leaning back. He'd make it up to him somehow—help him with a new invention or something. His mother came into the room and smiled at him with a slight tilt of her head. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

"No, no. I'm fine." He said. She nodded and bent over to kiss him on his forehead. Marty smiled, and then his eyes went behind her and he went pale. She turned around and realized he was looking at the television, which she hadn't even noticed was on. A brown-haired man had appeared on the screen, in handcuffs, held by police officers in what looked like the courthouse. Marty hesitantly reached for the remote, raising the volume, feeling sick to his stomach.

"…charged with the robbery of over four hundred thousand dollars, which was uncovered in the cars of whom assisted the thieves and were caught just barely four days before the two were, and kidnapping."

Marty flinched, and Lorraine finally understood. "Oh my…" she murmured, and she sat next to him. "I'm sorry, sweetie, it's okay." She said, hugging him. "I love you." He blinked, relaxing again. Looking over at the T.V. once more, he heard, "…both sentenced to thirty-five years…"

Marty stared at the man on the screen—John—and the man now next to him—Baldy—and couldn't help a satisfied smile from crossing his face. _Thirty-five years, _he thought, almost amused_. _After all the men had done to him, he wouldn't have cared less if it had been fifty. _Have fun in jail, assholes._ He glanced up at his mother, once again relieved to be home and safe.

"I love you too."

**Five stars for cheesy, 50% badly-written, but happy endings! Whoo! ^^ **

**So yes, Back to the Future Part IV is finally COMPLETED. Yay! Wait…aww!*cries* Thank you to every single one of my reviewers who've stuck with me through my story (AND my annoying—*cough*but probably true*ahem*—self-criticism :P) You've all been so kind to me and it's really given me a reason to make sure I didn't abandon this :) I hope to start up another fic soon, and I'll be lucky if I get half as much support as I did with this one! **

**See you in the future! :D  
**

**-StrawberryBubble**


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